Postpartum
by Strigi
Summary: The Prydwen never comes to the Commonwealth. The three remaining survivors of the Cambridge Police Station are forced to relocate and take refuge elsewhere. While Nora, Sole Survivor of Vault 111, poses as a maternal figure to them and every lost soul in the Commonwealth, nothing seems to heal the gaping void in her life that once held her precious family stolen by the Institute.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello! If you followed my New Vegas fic _For a Demon with a Queen_ , welcome back! If you're new, greetings! A few notes before we get started. Despite what the listed genres may indicate, there will be some element of romance in this fic, just as there is any other fic I write. Only, it may not be as prominent in this one, so other genres were appropriate in identifying this one.

Once of my favorite things about the Fallout games is how intensely personal they make it for your player character. In Fallout 3 it was your dad. In Fallout 4 your whole family! I was instantly connected. And so, as a result, my Sole Survivor (named Nora) will reflect upon those familial elements. This will follow the main storyline to some extent, but as can be expected with _Demon_ , it will diverge to its own path. We've all played the game to some extent, we're familiar with what happens. I will avoid being redundant as much as possible. Other characters will be featured in the future. Please note the title and officially listed genres and prepare yourself for a lot of angst and dark tones. Otherwise, the only other warning I can provide is to not assumed on the pairing. I do like to play on polyamory and what you might expect.

For now, enjoy!

* * *

 **Postpartum**  
 _Chapter One_

* * *

Joy was indescribable. At least, hers was. Nothing could compare to the feeling of floating through life painlessly. It moved quickly, seamlessly. Perhaps a shade too quickly. Too fast to feel and relish the experiences, like a blur.

But she remembered enough.

Her highest moment was the birth of her son. Shaun's entrance into the world signaled not only a new page to her life. This _was_ her life, as if it started in that moment. She had no need for an epidural; she felt no pain. For when she heard the cries of her newborn, there was nothing but life, bliss. Love.

The doctor passed the swaddled baby over to her, proclaiming its sex. When she took the baby into her arms, Nora felt a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, a kiss against her head. She looked up to see the smiling, tearing face of her husband.

When their eyes met, it was always a magical moment, like tangible electricity coursing between them. When their eyes met this time, she felt it all over again—life, bliss. Especially love, and it was crushing. A wave of it pressing against her chest, suffocating. They were fortunate enough that he had been honorably discharged over a year ago. They were fortunate in almost everything it would seem, how they found each other. Not everyone could find their utterly perfect mate as they had.

"What should be his name?" the doctor asked.

"Shaun," Nate whispered through his tears. The name they had both settled on.

"Shaun," she repeated softly, looking into the dewy black eyes of her baby.

News of the increasing conflict with China mattered little to them, though it probably should have. But when the Vault Tec representative came knocking, offering them space in the local vault, it would seem as though their good fortune continued smiling. So, it almost mattered very little when, within the hour, the first nuclear bombs had been dropped on U. S. soil.

Shortly after the broadcast, they fled with Baby Shaun in hand up the hill to Vault 111. Despite that the Vault Tec representative was turned away, they were allowed through the security check.

They waited anxiously, huddled together on the vault platform. She stroked Shaun's cheek as he slept soundly in Nate's arms. Nate pushed some hair behind her ear, cradling her face.

The moment could not even be shattered when another bomb dropped over Boston. They saw the mushroom cloud but escaped the rushing wave of heat and radiation as their platform descended in time, another token of their luck.

But it would be their last.

Nora watched her beloveds directly across the aisle. Nate with Shaun, climbing into the decontamination pod. She touched the glass of her pod, reaching out to him. She saw Nate do the same.

Only, it wasn't decontamination. It was hell. And this hell came with frozen tendrils of ice and frosted glass. Cryogenics.

Her next breath was a gasp, fogging her window of the vault. She saw Nate awakening as well.

But something was terribly wrong. She felt it deep in her core. The vault was dark. A scientist in a cleanroom suit pointed to Nate. A rugged man with scars and dirty clothes, _armor_.

Nate's pod was _the one._

"Open it."

The pod opened. Nora's didn't. She pounded on hers, knowing her pleas were muted, ignored.

The scientist reached for Shaun, _her baby_.

Nate—blessed, beautiful Nate—in his dazed confusion could detect the threat of danger. He clutched their baby to his chest. " _No, I've got him._ "

The man produced a gun and had no hesitation in pointing it to Nate's temple. " _Let the kid go._ "

" _I'm not giving you Shaun._ "

The gunshot echoed throughout the vault and pierced the boundless silence of her own cryogenic pod, piercing her chest and rupturing her life.

Shaun was collected like a parcel or bounty. The murderer turned to look at her screaming and pounding against her cell. Her throat went numb and her hands stung bright red. He sneered, revealing a menacing countenance and issued some taunt of Nora being a _backup_.

Her hell froze her in place again.

Her joy was indescribable, and her life had floated through bliss like a cloud. Looking back, her fortune, her luck could not be denied. She couldn't imagine anyone ever being so fortunate to experience such happiness.

But it was fleeting. Her grief dragged through excruciating, painful minutes. When she finally emerged from the catacombs of corpses of Vault 111, blinking in the watery sunlight that illuminated the ruins of her decimated home, she knew this started a new life for Nora, a life forged from her grief and the ashes of her vengeance.

They could take her purpose. But they would not win.

* * *

Electronic feedback. Baby giggling.

 _Hi honey! Listen..._

 _I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great a mother you are. But, we're going to anyway. You are kind, and loving..._

Baby giggling.

 _and funny! That's right. And patient. So patient, patience of a saint as your mother used to say._

 _Look, with Shaun and us being home together, it's been an amazing year, but even so, I know our best days are yet to come. There will be changes, sure, things we'll need to adjust to. I'll rejoin the civilian workforce. You'll shake the dust off your law degree._

 _But everything we do, no matter how hard, we do it for our family._

 _Now say goodbye Shaun. Bye-bye. Say bye-bye._

Baby giggling.

 _Bye honey, we love you._

Her energy was sapped. She fell to her knees and did not even have the strength to weep, to express her devastation. Her loss rippled through her veins, reflecting in the rubble and debris of Sanctuary Hills. _Two centuries of destruction._

While Codsworth tried to awkwardly comfort her with one of his robotic appendages patting her back arrhythmically, she looked into his optical lens as his words eventually transitioned into despairs over their gardenias.

She lost Nate. She lost Shaun. But at least she had Codsworth, at least she had _something_. And something was better than nothing.

Something dragged her through the neighbors' houses in a futile search for her lost family. She felt odd about entering them, almost like it was trespassing. But she quickly overcame her unease. The only things that lived in these houses now were the over-sized insects she had already familiarized herself with at the Vault. The insects and skeletons.

God, the skeletons. They littered the ground _everywhere_.

But Codsworth, though misguided, his concern in his brief search was genuine in intention. Soon, he too came to accept the sad reality of her new life.

The first several days of her freedom was spent cleaning up her house. Codsworth easily complied, whizzing around with tasks he was originally programmed for. He would often titter about how lucky he was to have found her again, how everything had been hopeless before. It at least provided her with a small amount of comfort.

There were several other houses in Sanctuary Hills that were ruined beyond repair. Her house at least was— _mostly_ —structurally sound. She picked through the garbage methodically. The bed she had shared with Nate was nothing but rubble that she cleared out. His service flag remained, which she displayed on their still standing kitchen table. Not that they had any visitors to see it on display.

Once she got to the nursery, however, things changed. Her breath escaped her lungs. She gripped the door frame for support. She saw the toy blocks, the baby book, tricycle, all laying abandoned. In the middle of it all, like a shrine, stood his crib.

The baby mattress had been reduced to dust, and the mobile hung in broken shambles. The paint was peeling from the charred wood, but its blue color was still visible after all this time. Two centuries.

She didn't enter the nursery. She couldn't. She wouldn't dare.

And so instead, she sat on the ottoman that remained in the front room, fiddling with the controls of the Pipboy she had lifted from the remains of a scientist in Vault 111. It had operated the door and elevator, allowing her outside in an otherwise locked down vault. Little good it did in finding her son.

"I need to find Shaun," she said aloud, affirming her new purpose in this life.

Codsworth approached her from the kitchen. "Ma'am, if I may, I never saw anyone leave through Sanctuary Hills. But someone else might have seen young Shaun passing through. Someone in Concord, maybe?"

"Concord?" she repeated, looking up. Concord, as she remembered it, was not far away.

"Yes, but be careful. I've seen more seedy individuals than I would care to count since the bombs fell. You should be prepared, armed even. I believe Master Nathaniel had something hidden away from his military days that might prove useful.

It was a .50 caliber rifle stowed away in the bottom of their closet. Nora remembered it well. It required some cleaning, parts of the assembly rusted through, and some modification in order for it to be useful once more, but overall, Nora was surprised with its intact condition.

Codsworth helped her with cleaning it and modifying it, improving it. At the workbench across the street, they worked on its accuracy, its recoil, and ammo capacity. By the next day, they had a gun worthy of her mission. Nate had taken her to the shooting range a few times to practice her marksmanship, but she tested a few shots in the hillside behind Sanctuary Hills. Luckily, Nate had stockpiled ammunition, and Codsworth's diligent watch over their home had discouraged looters over the centuries.

"May I accompany you, ma'am? To find young Shaun?" Codsworth inquired eagerly.

Nora looked at him sadly, suffering a small smile. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the robobutler's company, but she really needed to do this alone. "You should stay here and watch the homefront, just in case Shaun comes back."

Codsworth's gyrosphere whirred in agreement. "Excellent decision. Please be safe. Take care of yourself."

She kept smiling, reassuring her grip on the rifle. "I'll be fine. I've got this with me."

"If I may—Master Nathaniel told me once that soldiers would name their weapons as a sign of good luck, or something to that effect."

Nora gave a small chuckle, looking at the heavy rifle in her hands. She thought of her dearest home and family and how she hoped to be reunite with them once again.

"I'll call it... Sanctuary."

And her sanctuary it was.

* * *

-Strigi


	2. Chapter 2

**Postpartum**  
 _Chapter Two_

* * *

Her grief, her determination, and her trusty rifle Sanctuary didn't prepare her for the Commonwealth Wasteland. She remembered how she used to drive to Concord with her husband on Sunday afternoons. By car, it had only been a five minute drive.

The walk was a bit longer.

Crossing the damaged bridged out of Sanctuary Hills, she came upon a scene that she should have taken as a harbinger for what she would encounter throughout the rest of the Commonwealth. Two bodies—fresh, not skeletons. A wild dog with large scabs and great patches of missing hair. The other was a woman covered in dirt and grime, locked in an apparent altercation with the dog. And that was how they had met their end.

It was a pitiful sight to be certain, but Nora didn't have time to grieve over them. She released a weak sigh before dragging their bodies off the road, behind some boulders. She gave the bodies a last furtive glance before taking the woman's leather duster for herself.

Around the bend was the Red Rocket Station, another familiar sight sitting in dusty ruin. She paused to examine the garage door and wondered about the contents hiding inside. There could be supplies, perhaps. Something useful, supposing these areas weren't already picked cleaned by scavengers from the past two centuries.

The sound of some light scratching interrupted her thoughts. She tensed, expecting danger.

But then, of all things, a dog appeared from the truck stop. He wasn't mangy or scabby. He was a German shepherd with a relatively clean coat and bright, intelligent eyes. He approached her cautiously, nose sniffing, ears perked.

She tested the waters. "Hey there. Good boy."

He gave an experimental wag of his tail, stepping closer. She reached out her hand and, with a cursory sniff, he began licking her hand.

"Okay, good boy. So, friends? Where is your owner?"

That elicited a small whine from him, as if he understood her words perfectly. Thinking back to the dead woman on the road, she could easily imagine what had happened to his previous owner.

"Okay, well, you can come with me. I warn you though; it'll probably be dangerous."

He gave an excited bark, stretching out his front legs, as if danger didn't concern him.

"All right. Let's go, pal."

He trotted faithfully by her side on the road to Concord.

The destruction of the Wasteland was ever-reaching. The houses and buildings they passed looked like any other, all the same. No building was too great or too insignificant for the damage. There were large sections in the road where the pavement was broken up. A few over-sized insects obstructed their path but they proved nothing more than a nuisance for her and her new companion.

But the real danger was in the heart of Concord.

It appeared as though she had arrived in the middle of a firefight. She took cover behind an overturned car and watched for a minute. She was surrounded by more grimy individuals wearing shabbily patched leather armor, firing obscenities and ballistics toward the Museum of Freedom. From the balcony, several rounds of _laser beams_ were fired upon the combatants on the street.

Nora scrutinized those laser beams, vaguely remembering how the army had already developed energy weapons before the bombs dropped, but not that they had been released to the civilian public.

She didn't have long to consider this, though. Someone noticed her and began immediately shooting. She ducked just in time, reaching for Sanctuary. Growling, the dog fearlessly sprang into battle.

She wasn't sure how she did it, but within minutes, the raiders on the street were all dispatched. She didn't recall being that great of a shot but wondered if she should feel some measure of remorse for killing all those people. However, any guilt she felt was short lived when the person on the museum balcony called out to her.

"Hey! Hey you! Thanks for coming when you did. Look, if you wouldn't mind, we could still use your help in here—"

She looked at him blankly as his pleas grew more awkward in her silence. She considered him mutely. He mentioned something about Minutemen, and she wondered if she had stepped back in time instead of sleeping through two centuries into the future. Either way, they needed her help. Doing so would delay her search for Shaun. But currently, her search for Shaun was a blind one. She had no leads, no idea where to start. If anything, they might have known something.

"I'll be right up!"

Navigating the museum was quick work, not as quick as she would have liked given that it seemed as though half the building had collapsed in on itself. She was glad Nate wasn't here to see it in this state; the museum had been one of his favorite places.

Soon, the remaining raiders inside were dealt with, and she was at the topmost floor facing a locked door. She tried opening and was met with a gun to her face.

She flinched, remembering how Nate had been shot. But then the weapon was lowered and the face from the balcony smiled. "Hi. I'm Preston Garvey."

Preston Garvey was not alone. What had once been a group of twenty survivors was now a group of five. There was Sturges—a handy mechanic who could build almost anything. Marcy and Jun Long—the angry mother and depressed father who had lost their son. The abrasiveness of Marcy and the despondency of Jun didn't phase her; she saw facets of herself reflected in them, the rage and the grief. The self loathing.

And finally, there was the older, almost senile woman with a riddled and storied past. Mama Murphy.

"I see you and Dogmeat have found each other," Mama Murphy said, stroking the fur of the exuberant canine.

"Oh, is Dogmeat yours?" Nora asked, thinking it a strange name for a dog.

"Oh no, Dogmeat belongs to no one," Mama Murphy said simply. "He was our friend. Preston sent him to find help. Seems like he certainly found it."

"Nora," Preston interrupted before she could ponder this any further.

He took her off to the side, detailing their plan to push through the remaining raiders. A vertibird had crashed into the roof of the museum. Inside was a functional power armor suit and a minigun. In order to grab the minigun, they needed the suit of power armor. In order to power the suit, they needed a fusion core, which required a quick trip to the museum's basement. To Nora's utter amazement, the fusion core still hummed with energy, even after centuries of neglect.

Sturges was excited to see her success. "Have you ever used power armor?" he asked.

She was shocked. "You want _me_ to use it?" She looked to Preston, the only one even wielding a gun in the group.

He hung his head. "I do think that would be the best choice. You've proven yourself more than capable."

She nodded firmly, thinking about Nate's time in the military, the few times he had mentioned different models of power armor. "I can figure it out." She had graduated law school, after all.

Mama Murphy had a warning to offer. "Be careful. There's something out there. Something that's not a raider. Big, with claws of death."

Nora frowned at the vague description, but before she could inquire further, Preston was pushing her out the rooftop door while the Longs shared their confidence that they were all dead.

The power armor suit gave her pause. It had belonged to someone, someone who had been alive two hundred years ago when she was alive. Someone in the army who could have easily been her husband, had Nate not been injured in combat. A holodisk nearby identified that someone as a Michael Daly. It was not Nathaniel Howard, but it could have so easily been—if Nate wasn't discharged, if they weren't offered space in the vault, if Nate had been tasked with protecting Concord. So many if's, most of them leading to Nate's inevitable death, either way.

She quietly thanked Michael Daly for his service and donned the power armor.

Insert the fusion core. Turn the release valve.

Everything still worked. The minigun welded to the frame of the vertibird gave some protest, but Nora managed to rip it off. Dogmeat whimpered when she told him to stay behind.

The remaining raiders served as no real match to her sudden might, even with their insane leader pressing them forward into certain death.

However, the ones retreating didn't prove so lucky either.

Jumping down from the roof of the museum was an easy, exhilarating task in power armor, but it might have been a poor decision. When the last of the raiders fled down the street, something shook the ground, clawing its way from the bowels of the earth. When it surfaced, Nora had no name, no comparison for the monstrosity facing her down the street. It was as large as the buildings around it, complete with horns and vicious claws. Its roar vibrated every cell in her body.

Claws of death. Mama Murphy didn't miss her mark.

Nora stood her ground, firing the minigun into the terrifying creature. She was picked up and thrown around a few times but remained mostly unscathed thanks to the protective power armor. She managed to pick herself up, reassure her grip on the minigun, and keep firing.

Eventually, she felled the creature. Its body slammed to the ground lifelessly, creating a cloud of dust and smoke. Her fusion core was nearly depleted, the minigun hot in her hands. She staggered back to the museum where the others were gathering on the entrance steps. She waited a moment to catch her breath, the power armor proving difficult to breathe in.

"That was amazing!" Preston exclaimed. "You completely took down that deathclaw on your own."

"Deathclaw?" Nora repeated. "Is that what it's called? Nice clarification there with the claws of death."

"We're so glad that you came along," Jun said. "We would have never made it out of that alive."

Marcy was less impressed. "For what though? How long is it going to take us to reach this place, Mama Murphy?"

"Where are you headed?" Nora asked.

"It's a place called Sanctuary Hills," Preston answered. "Mama Murphy saw it in a vision. We've been looking for a safe place to settle after Quincy." Preston's voice faltered at _Quincy_ , indicating some tragic story if Nora didn't know better.

"How long are we going to follow these visions?" Marcy barked. "They're not real. They're just a reason for her to keep taking chems."

"I'm sorry, visions?" Nora asked.

Mama Murphy spoke up. "It's the Sight. And it never lies. Let's ask our savior, our survivor here what she knows about Sanctuary Hills. How far away is it? Is it a nice place to live?"

The look of expectation in Mama Murphy's face made her uneasy. It was if she knew, understood the entirety of Nora's life. Nora cleared her throat. "It's not far. Down the road, past the Red Rocket Station."

"Is it a nice place?" Preston asked, sounding grateful for some long-awaited good news.

She quirked a small smile. "I enjoyed living there. The neighborhood was nice, back when I actually had neighbors."

She saw their confusion, their shock unhinge their jaws. "Wait, do you mean—"

"Yes, I lived here. Before the Great War, before the bombs fell."

" _How_?" Preston asked.

"My family and I—we were selected for a vault. But when we got down there, they cryogenically froze us." She faltered at the hint of her own tragedy.

"Yes," Mama Murphy said, nodding. "I saw it all. I saw you wake up from your sleep, the Sole Survivor of Vault 111. You've come to the Commonwealth seeking something. I can tell you that your son is not far."

Her insight was unnerving. Nora's hands shook. "What. Do you know. About. Shaun." she issued in a low voice through tight lips. "Where. Is. My baby."

Mama Murphy swayed, her eyes glazing from some permanence of exhaustion. "I cannot see that. He is hidden. But I know you will find him. Go to the great gem of the Commonwealth. The green jewel of Boston. Diamond City."

Before she could say anything else, Preston reached out to support Mama Murphy. He looked up at Nora. "She has these visions. It's how she's led us here this far—"

"With fifteen people dead so far," Marcy spat.

Preston ignored her. "Your son is missing?"

Nora tried to compose herself. "Yes. He was kidnapped right after my husband was murdered. I was trapped in my cryopod."

Preston gave a low whistle. "Kidnapping infants? That sounds a lot like Institute business."

"What's the Institute?"

"A mysterious group of scientists, supposedly descended from the CIT. They operate in secret and are supposedly the reason for all the bad things happening in the Commonwealth. People blame them for all sort of mysterious things. You could call them our boogeyman. In either case, you can decide to take Mama Murphy's advice or not. She hasn't been wrong so far," he said, narrowing his eyes at Marcy. "But honestly, going to Diamond City is probably your best bet in finding your son."

Diamond City became her new destination. Before she set off on the journey, she walked them to Sanctuary Hills, welcoming them to the neighborhood. Once the Minuteman statue came into sight, everyone gave a gasp of relief. Preston turned and mouthed an appreciative 'thank you' before helping Mama Murphy across the bridge.

"Codsworth, I'm back. And I brought some new friends."

The robobutler seemed excited, if a bit confused at the new arrivals. He helped them all clear out some of the neighboring houses of junk before nightfall so they would have a place to sleep, a roof over their heads. Meanwhile, Nora stepped out of her power armor next the rusty shambles of the fusion powered car Nate had purchased for her before Shaun was born. It had been on loan, of course, since neither had been employed at the time, but she could breathe easier not having to worry about the loan's interest fees any more.

When she turned around, she saw Sturges approaching her. "I don't want to be presumptuous..." he started carefully.

"Of course not. What's on your mind?"

"This place—Sanctuary Hills—is pretty nice. There's space, a river that could provide use water, once it's purified, and it's pretty defensible. My mind's already started the plans on making the outer walls. We could have three main gates—"

"That sounds lovely," she said with a smile she hoped didn't look too forced.

Sturges faltered, sensing her hesitation. "Something bothers you?"

"Not your plan, of course. It's a great plan. I would love to see Sanctuary Hills being a home to people again, being used and turned into something better than a neighborhood covered in debris. I just..." her voice trailed off as her throat tightened. She swallowed. "It's hard being here for me. I knew the people that lived in these houses. They're all gone now."

Sturges nodded. "Of course. We understand. We won't disrespect anything. I just wanted to run my ideas by you, since you're sort of the Mayor of Sanctuary Hills."

Her scoff was derisive. "I wouldn't call myself _mayor._ "

"You're the one with ties to this place. If anything, we're your guests. But really, we just want to settle down, once and for all. We're all tired of moving around, fighting, running away in the middle of the night. We want to make something great. After what I've seen you do today, I have no doubt that you can help us make something greater." He paused awkwardly. "Well that's all I had. I'll leave you to your thoughts."

Nora watched him walk away, her tight throat swelling up her tongue, her eyes pricking. She coughed and the feeling didn't go away. She couldn't imagine deserving such praise, not after she had failed as a mother, as a wife, allowing her husband to be murdered, her son to be kidnapped.

If Sturges was so determined to make Sanctuary great, she would at least bring back Shaun to experience the greatness. Or die trying.

And that was why she didn't want to be mayor or a leader of these people. They, who had been through so much and clung so desperately to hope, deserved better than her. She failed her own family. She couldn't help these people. Their welfare wasn't her priority. Shaun's was, and she was prepared to throw her life away for that.

* * *

-Strigi


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So, I see some of you favoriting and subscribing to this story. *squinty eyes* I'm not saying that you guys HAVE to review. But. I sure do love reading reviews! :D Just let me know what you think so far, what you like or don't like. It's not a requirement, but if you like it so far, share the love. 3

* * *

 **Postpartum**  
 _Chapter Three_

* * *

The next day, Sturges began the slow work of fortifying Sanctuary Hills with Preston and Marcy's help. Jun decided that the old playground in the middle of Sanctuary Hills should be the place to plant the community garden with vegetable clippings he had brought with him from Quincy. Nora helped him with this, clearing out more rubble, moving the old playground equipment and repositioning the picket fences. She remembered walking with Nate through the park, holding Shaun while the older children laughed and played. Now the memories of those children where rust in the dirt.

"I'm sorry about your son," Jun said in between breaths. Moving the jungle gym took a lot out of him. "I never got to say it before."

"That's all right," she said, grunting as she pushed the bulk of the jungle gym's weight. "Your wife was busy sharing her concerns." She didn't mean it as sarcastic, but the slight edge to her voice was hard to mask. Ever since she met Marcy, she never heard the woman say a soft, kind, or appreciative word. It was always an insult or a critical remark.

"Don't hold it against Marcy. I know she can be difficult to get along with. I know I'm not easy to deal with either. It's just, our poor son, Kyle." His voice trailed in a slight choke.

Nora looked away, allowing him a brief moment to recover.

"Anyway, I have hope for you. I know you'll find your son."

"Thank you, Jun," she said, hoping her voice didn't sound so stiff.

After the equipment had been moved, she left Jun to his work. When she approached the street in front of her house, she could hear Codsworth arguing with Mama Murphy.

"Ah, there you are ma'am," Codsworth said in relief when he noticed her approaching. "Please can you settle this dispute?"

"What seems to the be the problem?" Nora asked.

Codsworth would not allow Mama Murphy a moment to plead her case. "This _vagabond_ was in your house, rummaging through the medicine cabinet. I do not think she had time to steal anything before I caught her _in the act_!"

If Codsworth had arms, she imagined that he would have crossed him over his chest at that point. Nora turned to the vagabond in question. "Mama Murphy, is this true?"

To Nora's surprise, she did not deny it. "Yes, I was looking for chems."

"I'm sorry, _chems_?" Nora couldn't hide the note of annoyance over her house being looted.

"You might know them as drugs from your time. Med-X. Buffout. Jet. Psycho." She had no shame in her intentions.

"Mama Murphy, you realize that's not good for you?" she shot back.

"I don't do it because it's good for me," she said with a raspy chuckle. "I do it for the Sight. That's how I get the visions that tell me what's going to happen."

"The visions that showed me leaving the vault? That showed you my son?" Nora's voice broke on the last word.

"It's the only way that I can help you. You will find your son. But I need chems to help you."

Nora thought for a long, painful moment. Her knuckles stretched white over clenched fists. Eventually she decided, "I can find you these chems. But they're not in my house. Stay out of it."

Mama Murphy tottled off. Codsworth voiced his concern. "Ma'am, is it wise to place her health in danger?"

Nora watched her leave. "It's for Shaun, Codsworth. And for Shaun, I'd do anything."

She packed a few supplies, including _Sanctuary_ , some food and water for her and Dogmeat, and she set off. Diamond City was a ways away, in the heart of Boston. The Old Fenway Park. A long way on foot. It would be a while before she reached it. She didn't expect the make the entire trek on the first attempt. Scouting would at least afford her some measure of the dangers the Commonwealth presented, supplies she could scavenge for her new settlement, her new community.

Maybe even other people, lost souls like Preston, Marcy and Jun, Sturges and Mama Murphy, that could use a safe place like Sanctuary. She had heard Preston toy with the idea of restarting the Minutemen.

Through Concord and Lexington, past the Starlight Drive-In and the Super Duper Mart she and Nate had frequented, back in the day. The snarls of feral ghouls suggested its infestation. Preston had given her a quick course over what those unfortunate creatures were. Skirting around College Street, and then a desperate radio signal flared on her Pipboy. Cambridge.

Nora always seemed to arrive at extraordinarily opportune moments—at least for everyone else. The Cambridge Police Station, while a defensible position, never had a prayer. Even with the noble efforts of a Brotherhood paladin, a knight, and a scribe, it could not be held against the endless waves of feral ghouls by a mere three battered individuals with diminishing supplies and an even more depleted morale, stemming from the senseless loss of their comrades, no matter how brave and glorious their intentions were.

When she happened upon the police station, Nora knew not the identity or purpose of the Brotherhood of Steel, but she recognized desperation in the form of a lone soldier decked in impressive power armor, withstanding the brunt of the overwhelming ferals.

Dogmeat sprang into action without prompt, ripping into rotten, irradiated flesh. Nora released a sigh, already feeling weary from this work before engaging the fight. She hoisted _Sanctuary_ , thinking how her permanent state of exhaustion would be her constant companion in this Wasteland.

The ferals were dealt with in a manner of minutes. Nora noticed beyond the line of their fallen corpses the true struggling nature of this outpost. Power Armor approached her with a begrudging word of thanks. Though, whatever can be said of his initial reluctance to greet her paled in comparison to the thoroughly unpleasant man injured on the steps of the building as the third person of their group tended to his injuries.

"The Brotherhood of Steel thanks you for your assistance, civilian," Power Armor said gruffly.

She lowered _Sanctuary_ , tilting her head to the side. She was not familiar with any Brotherhood of Steel, but with a husband from the U. S. Army, Nora was quite familiar with being addressed as a civilian. "I'm sorry, the Brotherhood of what?"

Something in his cheek twitched—annoyance? Two centuries and nuclear fallout hadn't much changed human expression. "We're an organization based out of the Capitol Wasteland. We focus on collecting and preserving old war technology." His eyes briefly flickered to the people waiting behind him.

"D. C.?" she said after a moment of realization. "Massachusetts is a long way from home. What brings you here?"

"I'm sorry, but our operative is confidential. Need to know basis."

"So, you're paramilitary, then?" she asked, eyeing the laser rifle in his hands.

His blank gaze told her that he was unfamiliar with the term.

When it looked as though he would not willingly say anything else, she tried, "I heard your broadcast on the radio."

He nodded. "Yes, it seems as though you came just in time. We were hoping Scribe Haylen's signal would have reached further." He considered her for a moment.

As a graduate of law school with a husband that had suffered from sometimes violent, often debilitating episodes of PTSD, very little made Nora cringe. However, the way Power Armor assessed her, sizing up her non-threatening physique and her grip on _Sanctuary_ made her feel a rare moment of insecurity. The sense of helplessness infuriated her.

"You seem to be able to handle yourself," he commented at last, delivering his assessment.

" _Danse_ ," came the reproachful, combative voice of the injured one. But _Danse_ seemed to have made up his mind about something.

"I'm not going to lie to you. We've hit low here. We've lost too many good men. We need help, and I'll take anything. We've been trying to contact our main base of operations but with no luck. I fear that I've brought my team here to their death."

"What is it that you want from me?" she asked carefully. If there was anything she learned since her short time out of Vault 111, it was that the Commonwealth Wasteland was a market for services desired and rendered. Everyone always wanted something, and nothing was free.

"There are only three of us. Knight Rhys has been injured in the attack," he said, gesturing to the grumpy fellow on the ground. "And Scribe Haylen, though proven effective in the field, needs to stay here at the base. I am needed to find an old prewar transmitter so that we may contact Elder Maxson, our leader, of our situation. Simply put, I need your help."

Rhys spoke up. "Honestly, sir. I'm fine. We don't need her. I can help you."

Danse looked at his man. He didn't argue, but he ordered, "On your feet then, soldier."

As much as Rhys tried, Danse's point was only further proven when Rhys was unsuccessful in even getting to his knees. Nora might have laughed at his foul temper and pride if she actually felt like laughing.

Danse turned back to her, ignoring Rhys altogether. "As I was saying. You handle yourself pretty well. I could use you as my six while scouting hostile territory."

"What would being your six entail?" she asked warily.

"You've seen the Wasteland— raiders, ferals, super mutants, maybe some synths even. I won't reveal anything else of our operative unless you agree to it."

He waited for her response, and she felt the eyes from the other two pressing upon her. A pregnant pause hung uneasily in the air. She worried, for a moment, about saying the wrong thing.

"What's in it for me?" she asked slowly.

Rhys responded first, swearing in a low voice, "Fucking mercenaries."

Danse was calm. "You'll be aptly rewarded for your services with a sizable amount of caps," he answered evenly.

Nora had already learned from Preston that bottle caps were the source of currency in the Wasteland. But it wasn't her calling; despite Rhys's assumption, she wasn't a mercenary. "That's generous, but I'm not interested in money. I just want to find my son."

Danse blinked, and she could see his mind shift gears. "Your son is missing?"

"Not missing," she said through clenched teeth. "He was kidnapped, stolen from me. I don't have any concrete evidence, but I saw the man who did it, who took my son and killed my husband. I have reason to believe that the Institute was behind it."

Danse was not dissuaded. "Yes, kidnapping infants would align with our picture of the Institute. We could help you in that respect. The Brotherhood intends to deal with the Institute once we arrive here in full force. Help us, and I'm sure we can find common ground in a shared enemy, a shared objective."

She couldn't help but be scathing. "And what do three battered _soldiers_ intend to do about the Institute?"

Danse didn't flinch. "What does one mother intend to do?" he returned.

A fair point. "I appreciate the offer, but I can't afford any delays or distractions right now."

"What do you have on the Institute?" Danse asked. "Right now? If you help us, help the Brotherhood, we could share our intel, our resources. We don't have much right now, but once Elder Maxson arrives, our position will be at better odds to deal with the Institute."

" _If_ your Elder Maxson arrives."

"A fleet of soldiers, scientists, engineers, and weapons you couldn't even imagine seems like a better bet than a lone Mother Bear grappling in the Wasteland."

Nora chewed her lip, considering the counterargument.

Rhys was impatient. "She's detrimental to us anyway, Danse. A mother looking for her child? She doesn't have any proper training. She more dangerous than helpful."

"Your friend on the ground may have a point," Nora ceded. "You're with this Brotherhood of Steel. Your loyalty is obvious. I'm a rogue factor. My family, _my son_ comes first. I'm not bound to your fraternity."

Danse shook his head. "I'm confident that, should our mutual relationship last that long, I'm sure I could change your mind. When I see a person, I have a feeling about them. I can read them pretty well. And my gut tells me that you are our best bet."

Nora sighed, shifting her weight to her other foot. If anything, Danse seemed to have a better idea of the Institute's whereabouts and motives than Preston and the remaining Minutemen. She looked down at Dogmeat who sat patiently by her feet with wide eyes, waiting for their next move.

"I guess we'll find out if your gut was right."

* * *

-Strigi


	4. Chapter 4

**Postpartum**  
 _Chapter Four_

* * *

Nora had not encountered a synth in the Commonwealth yet, but she had heard plenty about the skeletal robots with android features. ArcJet Systems, the prewar aerospace contractor, had plenty of synths to offer.

As they navigated the various labs, the synths themselves didn't prove very formidable, but their sheer number was what gave them an advantage. Once they had the main security door open, a wave of them appeared. With Danse yelling into the throng of battle, Nora kept her nerve and pushed through to the ArcJet engine core.

The elevator was offline. She peered over the stairwell, looking up and down.

"The deep range transmitted should be at the top level," Danse said.

But when they turned around, they found the staircase leading to the upper floor lying in ruin.

"We'll have to find another way," she observed, looking at the stairwell leading down. "Perhaps we can power the elevator down there."

The sound of more synths approaching spurred them to take the flight of stairs to the lower levels. Before they reached the bottom, they were engaged by the synths. Danse took on most of them while Nora continued through to the engine room.

Luckily, powering the elevator was a matter of flipping breakers. She heard it humming to life in the distance. When she looked up to tell Danse the good news, she saw him struggling through the engine room window. The synths had swarmed over him, clawing at the crevices in his power armor, searching for a weakness. A moment passed as Nora's heart leaped into her throat. Danse, who could have been so easily mistaken for Nate with his lumbering power armor. Nora's breath caught as her mind searched for a solution.

"Danse!" she screamed, wondering if he could hear her through the glass of the engine room window.

Their eyes briefly met, locked for an inexorable minute. Her anxious desperation only increased.

There was an option on the terminal to test the propulsion system of the engines. Seeing little other choice, she furiously slammed down on the button. Nora was rewarded with the sound of the old machinery creaking to life, followed closely by the smell of gas, before the engine core room erupted with enormous flames, licking at the grated floor. Danse and the synths were swallowed up, and Nora pushed the the kill button multiple times with fraught, tense fingers. The engine took entirely too long to die down and extinguish its flames. Nora ran out as soon as the blast doors slid open.

"Are you okay?" she gasped breathlessly.

The metal alloy that comprise the synth hulls was not particularly heat resistant. Their limbs were either charred or melted in shambles that littered the floor like autumn leaves. She was both relieved and grateful when she saw the huddled form of Danse's power armor moving. The gaskets on the suit hissed with the pressure changed, and Danse slowly pushed himself to his feet.

"I'm—I'm fine." He took a moment to catch his breath, registering what had just happened. "My armor absorbed most of the damage. That was rather quick thinking on your part."

The room was sweltering, and her _quick thinking_ showed in his face, colored bright red from the sudden heat that had filled the room. But once she saw that that was the only damage he had sustained, Nora breathed evenly, forcing herself to resume her composure.

Danse's eyebrow quirked, as if sensing this change in her demeanor. He was a trained soldier, not a certified lawyer. He probably detected the change, though more than likely unequipped in addressing it. "Let's stay focused, soldier."

He had read her incorrectly. The calm, the composure _was_ her focusing, so she didn't try to hide the ice in her voice. "I am focused, but I'm no soldier."

She brushed past him, her shoulder catching the massive elbow of his suit. It had been a poor decision, of course. Not even her sour mood could topple those obscene products of militaristic technology. She felt a bruise forming already on her upper arm but made no comment about it, made no reaction.

Paladin Danse joined her in the elevator for what was an albeit stiff silence. She tried mostly ignoring him, loathing the fact that she had even agreed to coming. Despising the time she was wasting. Her hands gripped _Sanctuary_ , finger poised on the trigger. She was getting used to its weight, to the massive recoil against her shoulder. Knocking into Danse with that shoulder had definitely been a terrible idea.

The synths at the topmost floor, the control room, were minimal but seemed to be much more well-trained in combat. Still, they had nothing on Danse's aim and her sheer determination to be out of that decrepit building. Danse was easily able to acquire his target for the mission, a deep range transmitter.

"With this, Scribe Haylen will be about to repair our communications relay," he said once they were outside. The sun was already beginning to sink low into the sky, setting their surroundings ablaze in the fiery light. "Then we'll be able to contact Elder Maxson and mobilize a stronger force here to the Commonwealth."

She squinted at the sun, feeling no warmth in its radiation. "And then you'll help me find my son, supposing your Elder comes to rescue you?"

His grimace was noticeable to her, even in his power armor. She tensed, awaiting disagreeable news. "Technically, we're not allowed to lend our support to civilians," he revealed slowly.

Nora scraped her boot back and forth against the dirty pavement. It was the loudest sound in her rushing ears, and she focused to tame her anger. She should have expected this. "So you lied."

Danse was quick to backpedal. "No, no. Not exactly. The catch is that you're a civilian. If you joined us, if you became our Initiate, you would have access to these resources."

Nora's laugh was dry, and she coughed to clear her throat. "So this was a recruitment job."

"No, we really need this transmitter, and I really needed your help back there. I think you could good, _better_ with the Brotherhood. What you showed me in there—tenacity and an uncanny resourcefulness—that's what the Brotherhood needs."

She couldn't take her eyes off the ground. She felt her eyes stinging as she absently rubbed at her nose. "And what about what _I_ need?"

"I told you. The Brotherhood can provide you all of that. Your needs will be met. You'll receive the proper training, equipment, and intel it would require to take on the Institute."

"But if it came between deciding on my son or deciding on the Brotherhood, well, my choice is pretty obvious, isn't it?" She'd finally looked up to him, seeing a hollowness in his eyes when it became apparent that she would refuse him.

"You understand the nuances of loyalty. Of course, becoming part of the Brotherhood means _choosing_ the Brotherhood."

"Yes, I understand the nuances." She looked into the sun again. "My husband served in the U. S. Army. Second battalion. 108th Infantry."

"Wait—your _husband_ was in the U. S. Army? You mean before the bombs dropped?"

"Yes and yes. My family and I were selected as Vault residents, only they cryogenically froze us. And here I've woken up, two hundred years later. A man came, killed my husband, stole my baby. So I understand what it must be like for you. My husband made these choices you're asking of me, and so I know—I _know_ that I can't make those same choices."

To his credit, Danse was undeterred. "If anything, everything you just told me should make you rally to our cause all the more. You were there two hundred years ago. You witnessed the disgusting abuse of power and technology firsthand. It ripped your family apart. Cryogenics? A disgrace—but not you. You know, you _understand_ better than most, the perverseness of the Institute and synths. Why they must be stopped."

"While I might _understand_ , it doesn't change anything. My mind hasn't changed."

Paladin Danse sighed. It was a heavy sigh that did not accept defeat, full of strategy and calculation. "At least sleep on it. It's almost dark; you shouldn't be traveling at night. You're welcome to sleep at the police station."

The sun was even lower now. She didn't want to waste any more time on trivial things such as sleep. She knew Boston and all of its intricacies like the back of her hand, so much so that nuclear fallout and darkness would not prove much in the way of obstacles. But there were other factors, variables in play. She had to think about things like ferals, water, food. So she reluctantly agreed to follow him back to the Cambridge Police Station.

The awaiting members of the reconnaissance team had separate reactions. Haylen was eager to see them return safely and, probably breaking protocol, threw her arms around Danse before awkwardly recollecting herself. Rhys remained in the doorway, blocking their entry, obviously mostly healed of his injuries. A scowl marked his face while his arms crossed over his chest. Rhys said nothing when Danse informed them of their night's house guest and he moved aside when Danse asked to be let through.

Haylen followed the paladin inside. When Nora moved to join them, Rhys moved his large frame, blocking her path once again. "I would be careful in there."

Nora couldn't _help_ but respond to his hostility with sarcasm. "I know. I'm sure after two hundred years of neglect, this building probably wouldn't pass a housing inspection. The floors falling in, roof caving in places. I'm pretty sure it's not up to fire code either."

Rhys afforded the tiniest half-smiles, but she would be remiss in reading any humor in it. "You've got jokes. I've got warnings. I don't know what game you're playing, but I've got my eye on you. I don't hesitate to take out potential threats. It's why I'm still alive."

She barked a humorless laugh. "Are you threatening me?"

"Yes," he said without flinching.

"You must be pretty ballsy to be so intimidated by a mother looking for her child." She brushed past him, catching his shoulder with her good one. Also probably a bad decision; the guy was solid muscle.

She was permitted one of the back rooms in the police station with a rusty mattress scrounged from one of the nearby apartment buildings. It was softer than she imagined it would have been, almost even comfortable, but it didn't provide her with the rest she needed. She tossed and turned, fretting over her lost time, anxious at sleeping in such an unfamiliar place. Every few minutes or so, her hand would dart out to touch _Sanctuary_ , as if to reassure herself that it was still there, not discovered by some prowling, ballsy knight of the Brotherhood.

Hours passed of this fitful state, so she sat up, shouldering _Sanctuary_ and decided to poke around the station for some cure to her misery. She only found Rhys in the police station, sleeping silently by the entryway. At least, if he was awake, he made no indication that he had noticed her. Nora crept through silently, making her way upstairs, recalling that a helipad was on the roof. If anything, maybe seeing Boston from a vantage point would relieve some of her stress.

When she got outside, however, she realized she wasn't alone on the roof. Haylen still worked tirelessly away at their communications relay, and Danse was with her, providing company, assistance, or perhaps was surveying the police station as its sentinel. Perhaps none of those things, perhaps all three, Nora wasn't sure which. They hadn't noticed her presence, and so she waited, her body tensing with discomfort as she admittedly, ashamedly, eavesdropped on their conversation.

"But everything went okay at ArcJet?" she heard Haylen ask at length. "No major problems."

"Everything went swimmingly," Danse assured her. "We couldn't have asked for a smoother mission."

Nora smiled to herself, sensing that Danse was purposefully withholding the exciting details of the mission from Haylen.

"And what about the civilian? Nora? How did she do?"

"Is that a professional curiosity or do you have another bet with Rhys?"

"Of course I'm curious!" And then in a lower voice she added, "And there might be some wager between Rhys and I."

Danse gave a chuckle. It sounded unusual for him, but the noise, rumbling in his throat, was genuine enough. "I don't want to know what Rhys is betting on."

"I think it's safe to say that he's pretty suspicious of strangers," Haylen allowed judiciously. "Here, can you hand me the soldering iron?"

Danse did as he was asked, making no further comment about Nora as the communication relay wires grew red hot from the solder. Nora was almost disappointed that she was just a blip in their conversation.

But once Haylen finished her soldering, she pushed. "I for one like Nora. She's got a lot of spirit."

Danse chuckled again, but it wasn't so much genuine as it was careful this time. "She holds herself well and handles that rifle like it's nobody's business," he acceded. "But there's something about her. Like she's about to snap."

Nora cringed inwardly at that.

"Have some heart," Haylen chastised gently. "She's lost her baby boy. That takes a toll on someone."

"You're right, of course. That was a poor choice of words. She's so singularly focused on her task; it's admirable. I just wish we could channel that energy to our cause."

"Give her time. She might come around." Haylen continued working at her control box. "Now be quiet for a moment. I need to listen to this."

They both fell silent now, so Nora slipped back into the police station. She considered briefly, swaying slightly over the threshold, of leaving the police station behind and returning to Sanctuary Hills to regroup her efforts. But if Haylen and Rhys were holding bets over her, she wanted to be at least sure Haylen—who had offered more than single kind word—won that bet.

* * *

-Strigi


	5. Chapter 5

**Postpartum**  
 _Chapter Five_

* * *

Nora returned to her assigned mattress and miraculously found a form of rest, a light daze that wasn't quite sleep but allowed her to close her eyes and wait the hours away with that inexplicable, mindless speed.

But the stillness, the stiff peacefulness of the night was shattered, sometime in the wee hours of the morning just before dawn. The sound of rapid gunfire bursting the air woke her with a start, and she shot out of bed, reaching for _Sanctuary_ , and ran to join the excitement.

Another wave of ferals had breached the sandbag defenses around the police station. Rhys was shooting his laser pistol from the doorway. The energy rounds raining from the roof suggested that Danse had not moved from his vigilant watch. Nora joined Rhys at the doorway and began firing into the throng.

Nora wasn't sure which building had hid so many ferals, but they swept the police yard like an unforgiving wave. As soon as they had brought down one line, another one would take its place with even greater ferocity. A low curse above their heads told Nora that Danse had depleted his round of energy cells. To compensate, he jumped from the roof to engage the ferals in hand-to-hand. Nora remembered how exhilarating jumping in power armor had been, and Danse managed to crush a few ferals underfoot in the process.

The wave of hostiles shuddered in an indecisive moment. Instead of crashing through to the police station, they focused their efforts on the Paladin, howling viciously. Nora took a deep breath, seeing the onslaught of the ArcJet synths reflected in the feral ghouls here. The dawning sun offered a gray light to illuminate their surroundings. She strained her eyes further, staring down the sight of her rifle, and dispatched the few ferals climbing up Danse's back. When it seemed that the tide had turned and the ferals were at last thinning, Danse turned, and beyond him, Nora saw another face appear at the police station gate.

It was not the rotten flesh of a feral. Its defined features indicated a human, cheeks stained with trails of grime and dirt, the shortly cropped hair streaked with grease. Nora paused long enough to see the new man draw a firearm and point it at Danse, and that was all she needed to confirm that this person was one of the raiders she had encountered before.

Danse called out to them, having not noticed this unscrupulous visitor. No one else saw the raider, so Nora didn't hesitate, squeezing the trigger. Her bullet marked his forehead as the light instantly extinguished from his eyes.

Before she could do anything else, Rhys tackled her to the pavement. One of the the station steps caught the back of her head and she felt heat sprouting down the back of her neck as her world seemed to tilt dangerously. The ground pressed hard against her back, and _Sanctuary_ was shoved painfully against her throat.

She couldn't breathe, and she struggled to regain her awareness with her supply of air diminishing.

She heard Danse's booming voice first. " _Rhys_! What are you doing?"

"She shot at you, sir. All the ghouls were down, and she opened fire at you, sir."

Somewhere in the depths of her jumbled mind, she could see his logic. No one else saw the raider. And Danse was standing too close to the line of sight.

"Release her, Knight," Danse ordered thickly. "I have obviously not been hit."

Rhys issued some complaints that Nora didn't catch. Somewhere in her mind, the presence of the raider insisted danger. One raider was typically an anomaly. They usually worked in gangs. Others were sure to follow.

The rifle didn't leave her neck. Black spots started to cloud her vision. She tried weakly pointing to her headshot just by the gate and rasped a faint word to explain her case. "Raider."

Whether Rhys understood her or not wasn't clear, but it was enough to divert his gaze, which automatically caused him to relieve some of the weight against her neck.

She took the opportunity presented to her, gripping the butt of _Sanctuary_ and slamming it against his face. Rhys reeled back, groping at a bloodied nose. Before he could react, she scrambled to her feet and sprinted across the yard to examine the dead raider. She heard Danse curiously following behind her, and the enraged, wet snarl of Rhys came soon after as he lunged after her. Nora glanced behind her to see Danse shielding her from the knight's rage.

"There was a raider," she said hotly, rubbing her throat. The exposed wound on the back of her head pulsated painfully. "There could be more of them."

Paladin Danse nodded at this, considering the probability amply. "We should walk the street."

Scribe Haylen joined them then, breathless from her trek from the roof. "There were more of them. They took off running when the attack was over."

"Then we could be walking into an ambush," Rhys said bitterly, mopping up the blood from the corner of his face with his uniform sleeve. Nora watched from the corner of her eye as Danse glared at the blood on his uniform with disapproval.

Haylen caught her breath. "I think—I _think_ those raiders were responsible for the ferals."

"Explain yourself, Haylen," Danse said, puzzled. "Ferals can't be controlled."

"It's just that the raiders seemed to be waiting just outside the walls. Maybe they led the ghouls here to attack us. Honestly, it all seemed too planned to be a mindless feral attack."

Danse nodded at the assessment. "All the more reason we should check them out. If they're planning attacks for us, they could have us marked. They might be planning to take our supplies or think our stockpile is larger than what it actually is."

"Have you thought about leaving the police station?" Nora asked.

Danse answered too quickly. "Negative. This is our base. We stay here."

Haylen offered further explanation. "The police station has the communications relay that we need to contact the Brotherhood."

"Couldn't you find another one? Or, I dunno, _build_ one? There are plenty of abandoned buildings and space around Concord. Cambridge and College Square were more urban back in the day, so there are more hostiles here. More ghouls, more raiders." Nora swallowed past a dry lump in her throat, coming very close to inviting them to Sanctuary Hills. She wasn't sure if she really wanted them, especially Rhys, so close to home.

"I appreciate the input, but we've already hunkered down here. We can hold the police station," Danse said stiffly.

Nora wondered why they were so reluctant to leave but didn't press the issue further. "So what are you going to do about the raiders skulking around?"

"We will confront them and eliminate them," Danse said, leaving no room for argument.

Nora felt like rolling her eyes, and so she did.

Thankfully, Haylen intervened with the blazing double barrel shotgun of Logic and Reason. "Actually, sir, I believe a plan involving more strategy and tact would prove more effective. Excluding the one Nora shot, I counted at least seven raiders. There's probably even more holed up somewhere. Without Nora, there's only three of us, and while I don't doubt our superiority, these aren't mindless ferals. Raiders can at least use a weapon."

"What do you suggest, Scribe?" Danse didn't sound exuberant at her reason but at least seemed to regard her opinion with respect.

"Reconnaissance. We should scout out their main base, determine their strength and numbers, and find out what it is they want."

"Excellent deduction, Haylen," Danse praised, as if this had all been just a learning opportunity for the woman. "Once we reestablish our connections with the Brotherhood, I'll communicate to Elder Maxson my recommendation for your advancement."

But Haylen shared a brief glance with Nora that the former lawyer understood all too well. _If_ this recon team was able to actually communicate with the Brotherhood, then the possibility of Haylen's promotion might mean something of substance.

 _If_.

As they discussed their plan of action, Nora wandered back toward the police station, pressing tentative fingers against the wound on the back of her head. Inside, she found an abandoned wad of gauze and nursed her head. She hadn't noticed anyone following her, but suddenly, Haylen was at her side, pinching a needle through the fold of skin in her neck. A cooling relief washed over her; the pulsing diminished.

The Scribe withdrew the stimpak. "We've decided."

Nora gave a puzzled look. "Decided on what?" Her head felt clearer now.

The bold smile that had graced the Scribe's lips faltered, perhaps realizing how presumptuous whatever it was that they had decided upon. She even looked a bit ashamed. "Danse wants you to join him in tracking down the raiders."

Nora blinked, just noticing how Danse in his power armor lingered in the doorway, his frame tensed, braced for whatever explosion he expected. Haylen appropriately retreated to the front room of the station.

The explosion came shortly. "No, no," Nora protested, her voice thick. "I didn't agree to this. I haven't joined your _army_ or brotherhood, or whatever you call it." She felt her face grow hot, her jaw locking up. "I already went with you to ArcJet. I have to find my son. I am _done_ working for you."

She had watched Danse's face carefully during her tirade, and the stormy lines remained unchanged. "Scribe Haylen just administered one of our last remaining stimpaks. You could think of it as payment for that."

" _Payment_?" She scoffed. "To heal an injury your own knight had inflicted? Because I stopped that raider from blowing _your_ brains out and he didn't take a goddamn moment to pay attention?" Nora gave another curdling, derisive laugh. "And you think I _still_ owe you some payment?" The tips of her ears burned and she began to feel dizzy. "I don't have time for this." She turned, collecting her things, stuffing them hastily in her pack. She heard the power armor shifting behind her. Dogmeat, who had wandered off into the police station on his own, remaining there during their excursion to ArcJet, suddenly appeared from the shadows, issuing a low growl at the paladin behind her.

Danse raised his hands in what was supposedly a peaceable gesture. "All right, boy. That's it." Then to her, "I didn't mean to make you feel forced. You were instrumental to us at ArcJet. I won't deny it. Without you, I probably wouldn't be standing here. Your help has been invaluable."

"So invaluable that it is worth nothing to you, it seems," she issued in a low voice. She took a glance at her pack. She hadn't intended to be gone so long from Sanctuary Hills. Most of her supplies had dwindled to scraps. The water bottle barely left anything for the journey home. The ammunition she had brought with her had all but been spent at ArcJet. One can of Pork 'N Beans remained.

Danse seemed to follow her gaze and her train of thought. "We still have some food left, some water. The police station was well-stocked in ammunition and ballistics. We could share our resources."

"I _thought_ ," she cleared her throat when its tightness proved too much. "I thought you only shared resources to those that join the Brotherhood. I am _not_ joining the Brotherhood."

Danse nodded, expecting this. "You don't have to join the Brotherhood—not yet anyway. You can see this as a trade. We're hiring you for your services."

Nora was shaking her head, unsure how many times she would have to get this through his head. "Then _pay_ me for ArcJet. I don't care about money or supplies. If you're going to pay me, I want information—anything that can help me with my son."

Danse messed up. He took an involuntary step back, as if to reassess his situation, but his face flickered briefly with uncertainty. She'd spent enough time in the courtroom to detect a retreat.

She jumped, fearlessly shoving a finger in his face. Dogmeat whined in confusion at her sudden aggression. She only had eyes for Danse. "But you _don't_ , do you? You're all talk about intel over the Institute, sharing resources, but only if I'm initiated. But you don't have anything on the Institute, do you? You don't have anything to help me?"

His lack of response was confirmation enough. She didn't need to see Rhy and Haylen in the other room share an anxious expression with each other. It was all spelled clearly over Danse's face. But of course, it all made sense now. They were struggling with their hold on the Commonwealth. Of course they wouldn't have anything on a mysterious band of scientists. The promises of reinforcements from their commanding officer was nothing but whispers in the dark for her.

She leaned back, slinging her pack on her back, shouldering _Sanctuary._ Her smirk was devoid of any real humor or amusement. "That's what I thought."

No one stopped her this time as she exited the police station with a flourish. Danse remained standing where he was, ashamed it would seem for his blunder or his dishonesty. She heard Rhys mutter something akin to how he'd been right all along, and Haylen simply threw a wistful, longing look at her as she passed, which Nora ignored.

She began making her way back to Sanctuary Hills, cursing her own stupidity and naivety. Dogmeat obliviously followed at her heels, circling playfully around her feet, until a few choice, curt words sends him off a distance for nearly tripping her. He didn't seem too bothered by her ill-temper but eventually took the hint and wandered off on his own, always within sight and just ahead of her.

She watched him from a distance, trying to breathe evenly through her tight chest. She would return without success, while during this time, Sturges probably had most of the wall constructed, the water purifier running, if things were looking up. And she would be fruitless. No leads on Shaun. No new supplies. Not even one scavenged chem for Mama Murphy's Sight. She had wasted her time with Danse and his Brotherhood of Steel. She couldn't believe she had walked all the way to ArcJet and had been so _terrified_ that she might have accidentally incinerated him in the engine core room. Perhaps it was because he reminded her of Nate in that moment, with unkempt, greasy dark hair and a manner that exuded nothing by regimen and protocol.

But Danse wasn't Nate. Nate wasn't coming back.

For whatever reason, the people that had decided to steal her baby had seen fit to take Nate's body with them. When she was finally released from her cryopod, nothing had been left of Nate except for a dark stain against his headrest, the remnants of his fatal wound. If she could not have his body to bury, she would have liked to at least have his wedding ring, as a treasured relic. But she still had hers. Maybe when she found Shaun, she could find the wedding band with him. If they harvested Nate for his DNA or organs or whatever scientific testing they deemed appropriate, perhaps they had left the token of their marriage untouched.

If she found Shaun. If they kept a stupid wedding ring that was meaningless to them. If this was indeed the work of the Institute.

By the time she passed through Lexington, Nora realized that Dogmeat had wandered too far out of sight. She paused, looking around the dusty rubble and reaching for the last remaining sip in her water bottle.

But her head hit the pavement as a gunshot shattered her eardrums. The water was ripped form her hands, and blinking furiously, Nora discovered she was surrounded by raiders.


	6. Chapter 6

**Postpartum**  
 _Chapter Six_

* * *

The carpet beneath her was frayed, dirty. It reeked of mold and dust, scraping against the bare skin of her arms with gritty sediment. When she moved, tight cords rubbed the skin of her wrists raw, and when she swallowed, her mouth was dry, pried open with some rough texture that made her throat convulse and her stomach heave. It took Nora entirely too long for her to realize that she was bound, gagged, held captive somewhere. Her head was heavy, muddled, foggy thoughts swirling and pulsing behind her eyes.

She had left the police station. She had been heading back to Sanctuary. And then there was Dogmeat. But then there wasn't Dogmeat— _her throat was so dry._

She blinked, her left eyelid flickering rapidly with some painful irritant, wet and hot, streaking down her face. It was blood, leaking from some unknown wound hidden by her hairline.

" _Hey, boss!_ She's awake!"

She heard the frantic scuffling of others in the room before she could bring the shape of their dirty feet into focus. One pair in particular took slow, deliberate steps toward her, proudly, confidently. She turned her head, inclining it up to see the face of those feet.

It was a dark face with white, painted lines, puffing upon a cigarette that he commanded with two grimy fingers. Smoke circled from his nose, and the smell coupled with the angle of her neck began to take a toll upon her head. "Hi there," he greeted. "Name's Jared."

She attempted a thick, throaty response, but the gag encumbered any attempt at speech, allowing her only the muffled grunts of someone desperate.

Jared crouched down, pressing his fingers against her cheek, flecks of the cigarette ash burning against her face with either Jared's careless inattention or indifference. "Shush. Shush. It's not your turn to talk. I just need you to listen to me, sweetheart."

He traced her jawline with his jagged, broken fingernails, and Nora poorly suppressed her revolted shudder. It only seemed to amuse him.

Jared withdrew his hand. "There you go, sweetcheeks. Just listen." He straightened. "I'm told that you killed one of my boys at the police station. Ramrod was his name. I'm also told that you killed Gristle and his boys in Concord."

Jared paused to watch her face. Nora knew she was guilty of the things he suggested, but she kept her face smooth and even. She had justifiable reasons for her murders, chiefly self-defense, but Nora doubted that self-defense was a solid enough form of protection in the courts of the wasteland lawlessness. Even so, she had lost the little regard she had for her well-being. She would be successful with finding Shaun or she would fail her baby in this humiliating moment. If the former, this would prove as nothing more than an annoying delay, and if the latter, well, there was nothing to be done in either case. She didn't fear death, not that it was probable in this instance. If they were going to kill her, they would have done so already.

Jared grinned at her impassive fearlessness. "That takes some balls, sweetcheeks. You got a pair hiding beneath those pretty pants of yours?"

Again with slow, deliberate movements, he reached for the zipper of her pants. Nora responded, jerking her body back violently. Jared tilted his head at her reaction, still appearing amused.

"I ain't gonna hurt you, sweetheart. Forgive a man's curiosity of the well-shaped frame."

He paused, as if waiting for her to respond. As if she could respond. She stared back at him with anger glinting in her eyes. She didn't have time for this. If Jared was going to kill her, he needed to just do it. If not, he was just wasting her time.

"See, the rest of my boys here don't like that you've killed so many of us and gotten scot-free. You see where I'm heading with this?"

Once more, she did not attempt to say anything. She didn't give him the satisfaction of a response by even shaking or nodding her head.

Jared reached for something behind him. When he revealed it, Nora saw him using the barrel of _Sanctuary_ to scratch an itch on the back of his neck. "As impressed as I am with your capabilities, no good deed goes unpunished. Fortunately for you, you're useful to us in other ways. See, we saw you leaving with your posse in Concord. You got a real special lady with you. Wears a turban."

Mama Murphy? Nora didn't mask her confusion, her brow furrowing, jaw protesting against the gag.

"You see, she used to run with us and the gangs back in the day. She had the Sight, even then. Oh yes, I know all about her little 'gift.' So, I'm willing to make a deal with you. I'll forgive you for depriving us of Ramrod and Gristle, but in exchange, I need you to make a delivery for me."

He stepped toward her, leaning the bulk of his weight against _Sanctuary_ —a deed that did not go unnoticed by her resentful glare, before depositing something on the ground in front of her. At first, it looked like a red inhaler, and then she realized—jet.

"Just tell her it's from Jared. And we'll be at the Corvega plant if she needs us." He laughed at that, cackling and coughing as the cigarette shook in his grip. Some of the unattended ash flicked to the floor. Most of it landed on her face. None of the other raiders in the room joined Jared in his amusement. He quickly recovered himself, gesturing to a nearby crony and muttering something inaudible to them before returning his attention to her. "All right now, sweetheart. We're gonna untie you. Nice and slow. Nothing funny, alright? I don't want to have to hurt you and mess up that pretty face." Another cough and cackle. "Yet."

As promised, the gag was removed first. Then the cords around her wrist were cut. She rubbed the feeling back into them, and slowly, unsteadily got to her feet. She must have been cramped in that position for hours. When she looked up, she had eyes only on _Sanctuary._

"Now is your time to talk, sweetcheeks. That is, if you have anything to say."

"Yeah, I do," she said tersely. Her mouth was dry and she moved her tongue methodically about her mouth. "That's my rifle you've got. And I believe you owe me a bottle of water." She held her ground with him, shifting her weight to her right foot, which made her left hip jut out. It was a stance she had used and held in courtrooms before. It indicated she would yield no ground.

"Excuse me?" Cough cackle. "A bottle of water?"

"Yes. See when you attacked me, I presume you took my pack, which also shall be returned to me. But I was taking a drink of water that was knocked out of my hand. Bottle drop. No more water. You repay me for damages inflicted and I'll take your little present to Mama Murphy if that's what you want."

"Damages inflicted?" he repeated with a scoff. He was one part entertained by her boldness and admittedly one part annoyed. "So what about damages inflicted with my people? How you gonna repay that?"

Her arms folded, a sign of impatience. "You saw me leave Concord with Murphy. So you must have seen the deathclaw. Whether it was me, some deathclaw, or the hand of God, your boys weren't going to survive."

Jared nodded at her logic and asked someone to bring a bottle of water. It was brought, rather reluctantly, by a pissed-off woman with a shaved head. Jared took the water bottle, never breaking eye contact with Nora. He began to unscrew the bottle cap. "So the rifle, your pack, and the water?" he asked.

Nora said nothing. Her demands were already clear. Restating them would only diminish their validity in the moment.

Jared took a liberal swig from the bottle. "You know, I don't believe that the water bottle you had was even full." He drained the water bottle of half its contents, took one last puff of his cigarette, and then dropped the smoking butt into the water bottle before screwing the cap back on. "But here you go, anyways. Since I'm so nice."

He crouched to roll the bottle across the floor. It bumped against the toe of her boot and stopped finally next to the inhaler of jet. Nora shifted her weight to the other foot, other hip protruding in turn. A show of disrespect from the opponent. Change in tactic, change in demands. "So, tell me, what were you and your boys doing, herding some ferals to the police station in Cambridge?"

Jared laughed, and Nora could hear the disgusting sound of the raider grinding his teeth. "You know that we saw you leaving Concord in your pretty suit of armor. That's how you killed that deathclaw. So we wanted a suit of our own, and we've got our eye on one at that police station."

Nora knew he was referring to Paladin Danse, and though she was currently irate with the Brotherhood of Steel survivors, her chest tightened. She counted at least ten raiders alone in the room with her. The three Brotherhood survivors wouldn't stand a chance. She remained aloof in the face of Jared, however. "You realize that there's a flaw in your plan, right? Power armor can only be disengaged from the inside. He wears that suit everywhere he goes. He never takes it off. If you kill him while he's still inside of it, you've just got yourself a pretty corpse, nothing more."

Jared was undeterred. "I ain't too worried 'bout it. Thing's gotta come off, eventually."

Nora absently scuffed her boot against the ground. It was one of her tells. The Commonwealth district attorney would have taken it as a sign of her uncertainty as she quickly recalculated her options. She went for a hollow threat. "I wouldn't make enemies of the Brotherhood of Steel. They've got a fleet of soldiers, a well-stocked airship on its way to the Commonwealth. With one look at your Corvega plant, they could burn your entire base of operations down without a second thought."

Cackle cough. "Baby, baby, baby. I know we just met, but you should know better than to threaten me. Threats in the Commonwealth are just as empty as the chamber of the gun you're holding to my head. They don't mean anything unless I can see the bullet you've got primed. And sweetheart, you've got nothing."

Jared stepped to her, pushing _Sanctuary_ against her chest. Nora clutched at it quickly, hands going around the main assembly before Jared could change his mind. She leaned toward him when he released her rifle. "Well here's a threat for you that's not empty. Call me 'sweetheart' again, and make no mistake, I will kill you."

Jared grinned, revealing his rotten teeth. "Well, I just have to make sure that we kill you first." He paused glancing down at the discarded inhaler. "Don't forget the jet."

The way he looked at her so expectantly, the air charged with hostile intensity, left her no choice but to slowly crouch down to pick it up. When she did so, his boot made contact with her face. She heard the sickening crack of cartilage, felt the sudden pressure, the heat dripping from her nose, before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

They found her just outside the Lexington apartment complex, just thrown out, discarded, like a trash heap. Dogmeat whined and then barked when he saw her, and Paladin Danse quickly ran to her. Her white shirt was smeared with grime and blood. There was a streak of blood running down the side of her face and then a heavy trail flowing from her nose. Her left eye was sunken in and dark, bruised from some assailant. Beside her, laid neatly on the ground and organized, was her rifle, her pack, a dose of jet, and an empty water bottle with an extinguished cigarette butt.

Dogmeat licked Nora's face until she woke up. She groaned into awareness, squinting her eyes against the brightness of the sun, and then rolled onto her back. Danse had a stimpak ready and crouched next to her. "Nora."

She didn't open her eyes. She barely reacted when he pushed the needle of the stimpak into the crease of her arm. She sported no serious injury other than the blood on her face and the black eye. But he could imagine what other bruises her clothes hid, what sort of beating she went through.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. Her voice was weary. She was neither combative or relieved at his presence. She was exhausted, resigned.

"Your canine friend here came back to the police station, barking and trying to get our attention. I followed him here. Do you remember anything?"

With the medicine of the stimpak depleted, she pried her eyes open and looked around at the items set out next to her. Danse saw her gaze linger especially on the empty water bottle with the cigarette butt. She reached for it and crushed it in her grip, the plastic crinkling, her hands shaking. She threw it against the building where it bounced off against the crumbling bricks.

"Yes," she breathed slowly. "I remember. You don't need to scout the raiders out any more. They want your power armor suit."

Danse wasn't sure how to respond, wasn't sure how to properly convey his growing concern at her obviously crippled state. But Nora pushed herself, clambered slowly to her feet. He attempted to hold her down, thinking she wasn't in any state to be walking, but she impatiently swatted his hand today. When he attempted to help her to her feet insted, she swatted at him again, more viciously.

"I have to go back to Sanctuary," she said with a sigh, picking up the jet and rolling it over in her hands.

Because she was preoccupied with the jet, he took the opportunity to pick up her weapon and her pack for her. "I should come with you—"

" _No_!" she refused quickly, turning around to face him. Her animation was uncharacteristic of her bruised state. But she vehemently refused his escort. "No, you should go back to the police station."

He couldn't fathom her sudden insistence. "You shouldn't go alone, not in your current state. You've already been attacked once."

"I've got Dogmeat with me. I'll be fine," the refusal was peppered with thin excuses, as if she couldn't decide upon one. Quantity over quality. He saw in that moment it was going to take a lot to force the truth from her.

But Danse stood his ground. He knew she had been through a lot. He didn't want to alarm or trigger any trauma. But he could recognize that she was far too valuable to be abandoned, especially if raiders had specifically marked her, captured her, threatened her or what else. "Nora, please. It's not a favor. It's not something you have to pay back."

Her eyes hardened into reflective diamonds. Her face was stone. "Do you feel guilty, Danse?" she challenged, drawing herself up to full height, as if her small frame was meant to intimidate him.

"Guilty? No. Responsible? Yes. I know you haven't and won't join the Brotherhood, but I still feel as though you're one of us. One of our own. We're in this together—"

"I'm going to stop you right there," she said in a steely voice, holding her hand up. "Save your recruitment speech for someone who might believe it."

Danse's composure threatened to fracture with a flare of annoyance. "It's not a recruitment speech, and you don't have to believe it. You may decide to keep pushing everyone away if that is your desire. But I've already decided for myself. I'm going with you."

She looked as though she wanted to argue, but the stalwart conviction in his voice could not be denied. His decision had been made. If she put up a fight, he would just follow her to Sanctuary Hills anyway. Better to comply rather than waste the energy, or so the thoughts so plainly read in her face. She didn't trust him, or perhaps more accurately, she didn't want to trust him.

If anything, Danse could admit that there was a genuine curiosity as to the location where she cooled her heels, where called home. She had already made it plain that she had served time in a local vault, and perhaps the enigmatic Vault Tec facility contained some remaining vestiges of their science and technology abandoned near the site. But he could not accompany her under that pretense. That was a surefire way to alienate her, risk her good favor.

If he was being honest, his motives for joining her were more personal than they were professional. Nora might deny it, but he at least shared some form of camaraderie with her. She had been there to save his skin in the engine core room at ArcJet. There was empathy, concern there somewhere, buried deep within the trauma of her grief perhaps, but it definitely existed. Danse at least owed it to her to make sure that she got home safe.

She sighed, resigning once more as she took the proffered rifle and pack. "Let's go home, then."

* * *

-Strigi


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I apologize for the lack of updates. It's not because I am not inspired by this story. I have a LOT planned for it, actually. I've been so overwhelmed in my internship this semester, that I have little time for writing. I'm not even participating in Nanowrimo this year. ;-; But that's okay. Please enjoy, and thank you for your patience.

* * *

 **Postpartum**  
 _Chapter Seven_

* * *

It wasn't until after they had left Concord, passing by the Red Rocket Station, that Danse broke their tense silence, asking about the small burns on her left cheek. Nora absently touched at the pockmarks, recalling the sting of cigarette ash being pressed against her face. She had ignored the pain then, and pushed the uncomfortable burning to the back of her mind. She wiped at her face, smearing the black grime on her shirt across the miniscule injury. Surprisingly, it helped to sate the pain. Nora didn't answer Danse, her gaze stuck on the ground before her. _Sanctuary_ methodically bumped against her back with the loose strap on every step.

The later afternoon sun was straight ahead, blinding them and sinking lower into evening. Cresting the hill, approaching the crumbling bridge, Nora saw how the settlement remained, and a wave of relief washed over her. Sanctuary Hills was a defensible place, but at least the five settlers could defend themselves. The wall was nearly complete now, much improved when she first left days ago, complete with a swinging, creaky gate, and a mounted guard post facing the bridge that Preston now manned. He saw them approaching, and Nora saw his eyes darken at Danse's presence. She couldn't entirely blame him.

Nora managed a weak smile for Preston just before the gates opened for them. Dogmeat ran ahead to settle down somewhere in the depths of Sanctuary Hills. Nora suppressed a cringe when Marcy was there to greet them, arms crossed, bottom lip puckered out. Nora matched her resentful stare that bored into her with an even, dead one, waiting for the verbal onslaught.

"So who is _this_?" Marcy asked, tone clipped, a curt nod indicating to Paladin Danse towering in his power armor suit. A power armor suit and a menacing laser rifle didn't intimidate Marcy. Nora doubted anything could.

Nora stole a cut-away glance at her hunkering companion. "His name is Danse," she introduced quickly before he could say anything, conspicuously leaving out the title of 'paladin.' She hoped Danse caught on to her deliberate mask of information. She didn't want to worry the settlers. Marcy and the others were suspicious enough. Someone affiliated with the Brotherhood of Steel would not be a good sign after what they had experienced with Quincy.

"Where is Mama Murphy?" Nora asked quickly before Marcy could continue her interrogation.

Marcy jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, and so Nora silently led Paladin Danse away as she heard Marcy berate Preston for letting Nora _romp_ through with whoever she wanted. Nora sensed Paladin Danse turning slightly around to glance at the pair behind them until the street curved 'round to lay out her house before them.

Most of the settlers seemed to prefer taking refuge at the house across the street, what used to be Mrs. Rosa's house. She had been a single mom with a young son. Nora didn't want to imagine what had happened to them after the bombs fell. Nothing pretty, she imagined. Nothing was pretty any more.

Sturges had turned the carport into a workshop area, and so far, the battered settlers had chosen to cram their dusty mattresses inside, maintaining their sense of close-knit camaraderie, safety in numbers. Nora saw Mama Murphy sitting inside of the house through the glass-less window. Nora paused, glancing at her own home on the other side of the street. Codsworth was whizzing through the living area, dusting, straightening, making the odd comment here or there to himself.

"This is a quaint settlement you've got here," Danse said, looking around, admiring the _quaintness_.

"What are you still doing here?" Nora asked, rounding on him. "You've walked me home. I made it safe. Now it's time for you to go."

Danse was taken aback. "Am I not welcome here?" He was more stunned than offended.

"No, you're not," she said curtly. "It's time for you to go back the police station. I'm sure they could use your help."

Danse gave her a strange look. "Why? Do you know something I don't? Did those raiders tell you anything else?"

"Nothing I haven't told you," she said. "They want your power armor suit. But I wouldn't put it past them to attack the station while you're not there. Anything for an advantage, anything for leverage."

He gave a terse nod. "Understood. If you ever wander through Cambridge again, you should stop by. This should not be the last time we see each other."

Something folded inside of her. She lost her brusqueness. She resolved to resignation once more. "Take care of yourself, Danse."

Danse inclined his head, dipping his chin just a moment too long to be surface civility. It had a deeper meaning, respect, high regard. She couldn't imagine why he would hold such a high opinion of her after she had been so coarse with him. Then he turned on his heel, and walked the now too-long street that curled out of her sight. She watched him leave and didn't move again until she heard the heavy gate creak shut behind him.

Nora cast one last, lingering glance at Mama Murphy through the window, her fingers tightening around the jet. She then turned her back and headed into her own house, pushing open the still-sturdy red front door.

Codsworth paused his cleaning to greet her frozen form at the door way. "Ah, ma'am. It's so good to—"

But the rest of his words were drowned out by a sudden sickening wave that turned her stomach. She ran for the bathroom, heaving the offensive bubbling rising in her stomach just in time. Once the humiliating moment had passed, Nora could appreciate the invention of indoor plumbing that had once worked in the house. Now, the repulsive smell lingered, but Nora ignored it, leaning against the ashy tile wall of the shower.

Codsworth joined her shortly. "Oh dear, ma'am. Did you eat something that didn't agree with you?"

Nora wiped the vestiges of the vomit from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. "Actually, Codsworth," she said with a sudden realization. "I haven't eaten anything since I left Sanctuary Hills."

A pregnant silence dragged, almost painfully. Nora could hear some of the gears of Codswoth's machinations clicking. She imagined him processing that shocking revelation. When had she left Sanctuary? Two days ago? Three days? Her stomach growled like the creaking of an old, empty house as if to support her claims.

"Well, I shall have to make you something that's agreeable to your stomach," Codsworth decided.

The supplies she had brought back from Concord and Lexington were scant at best, especially since it would seem that Jared and his raiders had stolen most of her supplies. This did not phase Codsworth as he decided, undaunted, to scavenge outside of Sanctuary Hills for possible cooking ingredients. Nora tried dissuading him from such an endeavor, but Cosworth would hear none of it, emboldened by his new purpose. She warned him not to wander far before climbing into bed for the rest of the evening. He didn't return until hours after sunset. Nora hadn't slept in that entire time and heard him bumbling about in the kitchen. Nora pushed herself off the bed to meet him.

"Look, ma'am. _Tatos_!" Codsworth proclaimed excitedly, gesturing to his bounty. His basket was overflowing with the red shiny foodstuff that reminded her strongly of tomatoes. She picked one up, testing it with her fingers and giving it a sniff.

"Where did you get these?"

"There's a lovely farm, a bit south from here, run by an even lovelier family called the Abernathy's."

"And they just gave all this to you?" she asked skeptically.

"Well, I had just happened across their quaint abode. They seemed rather nervous at first, demanding all sorts of questions at me. 'What are you doing here?' 'What do you want?' And, perhaps most troubling, 'please don't kill us!' After I had calmed them down enough and assured them that I certainly wasn't there to murder them, I explained that I was out and about scouting food for my mistress. They were very generous and offered me this basket."

"And they didn't ask for anything in return?" Nora asked, surprised. Especially after her encounter with Danse and the Brotherhood, she had come to expect that the Commonwealth wasteland operated on a basis that was fueled by some measure of exchange.

"Not at all," Codsworth assured.

Nora withdrew a serrated kitchen knife from one of the drawers. It was almost completely rusted through, but Nora used it to slice open the tato in her hands. It was brown and stiff on the inside, like a potato. She could only imagine how the tomato and potato was able to fuse together in such a mutation over the course of two centuries. It didn't look particularly appetizing.

Codsworth was undeterred and set to work concocting a vegetable stew, using some carrots that the Abernathy's had also been so kind to give him. He overestimated his ingredients though, and ended making way too much for just Nora to eat. She sipped the soup, deciding that it did not taste as bad as she had expected. It embraced her belly with warmth and substance. It growled again, demanding more. She ignored it though, gripping the stew pot by the protruding handles to carry it across the street.

Entering the house that once belonged to Mrs. Rosa was a strange sensation. She remembered when the house had been clean, save for a few toys belonging to her rambunctious son. Now, the crumbling house was crammed with five new residents that sat, huddled on broken chairs and ruined furniture around a gaslight lantern. They looked up at her entrance. Their faces weren't uninviting, but judging by their open-mouth expressions, it was apparent that she had interrupted some conversation, and they did not pick it back up again with her standing there.

But their eyes lowered to the pot in her hands. Nora looked down at the simmering soup, her mouth open, struggling to find words. Seeing them all there, suddenly, made her own house feel rather empty.

She cleared her throat. "Um, Codsworth made soup. I thought you might be hungry."

She set it down next to the flickering lantern and stepped back. The hungry faces peered eagerly into its contents, and, without hesitation, they began spooning the soup into cracked ceramic bowls scavenged from Mrs. Rosa's cupboards. Everyone mumbled some measure of thanks and gratitude through mouthfuls of soup, even Marcy whose curt nod was the most appreciative gesture Nora had ever witnessed from her.

"I'm sorry if it's too salty. Codsworth has always used salt religiously," Nora attempted with a pained half-smile.

But if they laughed at her small jest, she didn't hear it. The room was suddenly stifling to her. She tugged at the collar of her shirt, although it hung loosely at the dip of her collarbone. She backed a few more paces, longing for the fresh night air.

"Well, I guess I'll go stand watch, fill my shift and all."

No one seemed to notice her excuse for leaving or the fact that she had so suddenly disappeared from the house. She didn't allow herself a moment to consider that and walked briskly down the street, shoving her hands in her over-sized pockets. It _was_ troubling to some extent that everyone was just sitting inside, leaving no one on watch. It was dark; nighttime _should_ have been the time most important time to set up a sentry. Especially if Jared and the other raiders knew about them and this place.

She retrieved _Sanctuary_ where she had left it and made her way to the front gate. Suddenly, a new smell pierced her awareness. It was foggy at first, but the closer she was to the gate, the sharper it became. It was faint, as if its source had been extinguished some time ago, but definitely there. It presence permeated, tainted the air, making her head and stomach roll. Cigarette smoke.

Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that Dogmeat was pacing back and forth behind the gate. Not anxiously as if he detected an intruded, but methodically, as if he was on patrol. _Perhaps they hadn't left the front gate unguarded after all_ , Nora thought to herself with a wry chuckle. Still, it was a poor decision to leave Dogmeat on his own.

She climbed the steps up to the guard post with heavy, cumbersome feet. It seemed as though the higher she climbed, the more repugnant the smell of cigarette smoke became. She never recalled ever having such a sensitive sense of smell.

Nora leaned over the guard railing, noticing that the smell became stronger just outside Sanctuary Hill's gate. Below, Dogmeat perked his ears up at her odd behavior.

She descended the post and pulled open the heavy gate just wide enough to slip through, following her nose. She walked the length of the bridge, but the smell waned the further she was from the gate. She turned heel and went back towards it.

Dogmeat was waiting silently just inside, his tail twitching. Nora almost went back through when she noticed her boots kicking something around the pavement. She froze, crouched, and picked up the obtrusive object from the ground, pinching it between two fingers. The source of the smell. A cigarette butt.

A brief inspection of the ground yielded proof of two more. She dropped the one in her hand, darted back inside the gate, and slammed it shut behind her. The metal clasp banged with the force. Nora ignored the loud sound, her mind whirring furiously.

Did anyone in Sanctuary smoke? The butts were fresh, not the products of two centuries worth of decay. Did she remember anyone else smoking since they had arrived? Did they even have a pack of cigarettes among their meager possessions? Mama Murphy did drugs, so that might indicate that she was a chainsmoker, that is, if she actually stood guard at some point today and flicked the butts over the gate.

But there _was_ one person who smoked, who stuck out above everyone else. Jared. And he had left the burns on her cheek to remind her of it.

* * *

-Strigi


	8. Chapter 8

**Postpartum**  
 _Chapter Eight_

* * *

Nora didn't move from her self-appointed post all night, keeping the heavy rifle in her lap as she remained tirelessly crouched in the cold, damp hours of darkness. Dogmeat stayed faithfully by her side, wrapping his sprightly body over her feet for some measure of warmth. Nora appreciated his deep sense of loyalty but did not say as much, expressing her gratitude in the quiet stroking of the sensitive spots behind his ear.

She had not slept. She would not sleep.

Just as the sun peered over the horizon for dawn, Preston arrived for his morning shift at the guard post. He seemed surprised to see her there. "We wondered where you had went last night."

She doubted that but did not argue. "Do you smoke?" she asked instead, her insides clenched, coiled, waiting for the answer.

Her question puzzled him. "Smoke. No, I don't."

"Does anyone in your group smoke?"

"Mama Murphy used to but she stopped when her coughing got so bad. Sturges would indulge occasionally, but I think he hasn't had one since Quincy."

The clenching, the coiling shattered. This was not the answered she had wanted to hear. "I know our group is small at the moment, but we need to make sure that we have someone guarding the gate at all times, even at night."

Preston did not say anything in response, but his mouth worked itself into an agitated line, suggesting he might have disagreed. But his silence was all the compliance she needed.

Nora looked around, and, confirming that they were indeed alone, she decided to share something with him. "I know you probably want to argue, but listen. On my way back to Sanctuary, I was… kidnapped by a group of raiders. They let me go, but they knew Mama Murphy. I'm supposed to deliver something to her."

She showed him the jet and repeated Jared's message. To her suspicion, Preston looked troubled but unsurprised with the news. "I had heard that she ran with raiders once, but…" He didn't complete the thought.

"Since no one in your group smokes, you should know about the cigarette butts I found last night. I know for a fact that Jared smokes." She touched the pink burns on her cheek before opening the gate to show Preston her evidence.

Preston crouched to inspect them. After a moment, he straightened. "We don't know how long these have been here," he pointed out judiciously.

Her face hardened. "They were fresh last night. Whether or not they're Jared is debatable, I understand. _But_ it still means that someone was prowling around the gate last night. We need to be careful. We need to protect ourselves."

Once more, Preston did not argue. He nodded, trading places with Nora and her rifle with his own laser musket. "You should deliver that message to Mama Murphy, but not the jet. If anything, she could tell us how much of a threat they are."

As Nora headed back to her house, she heard Dogmeat's feet padding loyally on the pavement behind her.

Codsworth buzzed about the kitchen, tittering his concern over her well-being after being gone all night.

"Relax, Codsworth. I was just guarding the gate."

This seemed to assuage him but only marginally. "I am happy to see your dedication to your new community. However, ma'am, your own health is important to consider. You've been neglecting your appetite, you've not slept properly since you've returned with that Brotherhood soldier, _and_ you've been vomiting, of all things."

"Codsworth, stop worrying. I'm fine, really. Besides, no one is safe if the gate is left unguarded."

Codsworth's arguments paused to consider this. "Well ma'am, if it's a simple matter of having a warm body on post, I'd be more than happy to volunteer for the night shift, though technically my body casing is made of cold metal."

Nora was actually touched by the offer. "Codsworth, that's really sweet of you."

"Ma'am, you're the last of my family, pending until you find dear Shaun. I know it's technically in my programming to be so loyal, but you're all that I have left. My family is everything to me. But I guess now, this Minutemen group—they're part of our family now too."

Nora frowned, unsure if she felt as attached.

Codsworth, noticing her reluctance, pointed out. "They may be a rather rough bunch on the outside, but they look up to you, ma'am."

Codsworth spent the rest of the day testing and improving his own modified weapons system with the occasional reminder to Nora to eat something. She shrugged off his concerns, occasionally nibbling on a Fancy Lad Snack Cake she had managed to scavenge near Cambridge. She remembered eating them voraciously during her pregnancy. Nate would tease her over her unhealthy pregnancy cravings.

Nora froze in that moment, at that thought. She remembered the tenor of his laugh. How his shoulders would shake with the smallest chuckle, the fine lines that crinkled at the corner of his eyes. She remembered it all perfectly, as if she could reach out and touch his face. As if she would turn a corner and see him rocking the baby in the nursery or straightening his tie in their bedroom. As if the crumbling decayed walls were suddenly pristine and she had been transported two hundred years in the past.

Nora blinked, suddenly finding herself standing in the gray, dismal present, in the nursery. She gripped the side rails of the crib with shaking fingers. The snack cake had been dropped, abandoned, on the dusty floor. Hot tears streamed silently down her face, turning the sharp edges of the baby mobile blurry in the momentary escape to the past, masked by the thickness falling from her eyes.

Her stomach turned.

She fled the nursery in favor for the backyard, purging the contents of her stomach by the shambles of the picket fence. The arid sugaryness of the snack cake flooded her senses, and once the heaving subsided, Nora knew she could never eat another one.

To her utter relief, Codsworth was not around to witness her moment of humiliation again. She took a moment to collect herself, wiped her mouth, and returned inside to the kitchen.

She was packing up the remaining contents of the tato soup she had made, an idea forming. Once she had it properly secured, the sun shone brilliantly over the Sanctuary street for midmorning. The others were awake, working in Jun's garden or what was left of the perimeter fence. Nora paused just outside her front door to handle the gripping moment of claustrophobia, battling the trapped feeling the fence evoked as it reminded her of the constrictive cryopod where she had been rendered helpless while her husband was murdered and her son stolen right before her eyes.

She took a deep, shaky breath. _No_. This was different. The fence didn't trap her. The fence protected her from threats like Jared. The fence was a blessing.

She continued down the street to the front gate. Marcy, noticing her walking by, stopped helping Sturges erect one of the final walls and ran to cut her escape.

"What are you doing with _that_?" she asked sharply, nodding to the pot of soup.

Nora tired of Marcy's seemingly endless suspicion. "I'm making a trade."

"We need that food." She crossed her arms across her chest.

"Would you rather have one night of soup or would you rather have a steady supply line of vegetables?"

Marcy's face faltered. By now, Preston and Sturges had approached to join the conversation.

In the ensuing silence, Nora looked at each of their wide open faces. She easily saw the terror in them, even Marcy's. Especially Marcy's. She could understand it. She had also seen that terror reflected back at her in the glass of her cryopod. The terror followed tragedy.

"This is how we survive. More than that, this is how we _thrive_. We build the right relationships. We grow stronger—together. The people who gave us these tatos desire the same life we do, otherwise they wouldn't have given them to us. We pay that kindness back. We establish ourselves. And then we won't be the struggling survivors, the helpless victims. We become the strength of the Commonwealth. We become the people."

The terror lifted, however temporarily, from their faces. Preston was even smiling.

Marcy nodded, her face hardening, obscuring her terror. "Fine. But I'm coming with you."

They followed Codsworth's general directions to the Abernathy Farm, veering from the road and heading straight south at the Red Rocket Station. It didn't take long for the farmshack to come into view. They approached it slowly, deliberately, with Nora hefting the pot while Marcy escorted with Preston's laser musket. Nora had been initially against the show of force but didn't have the heart to argue it. She understood its necessity.

The man Abernathy greeted them just outside the fence protecting his farmstead. Marcy, whose face seemed to be stuck in a permanent scowl, said nothing, so Nora stepped forward to make the introductions.

"I'm Nora," she said, shifting the heavy pot to her hip. "This is Marcy. I believe you met my robobutler, Codsworth, yesterday."

The mention of Codsworth brought a familiar smile to his face. "Codsworth. Yes, he was bumbling around here yesterday. He got Connie pretty worked up, but we quickly saw that he was harmless. I sent him home with a basket of tatos."

Nora felt a genuine smile stretch across her face. The kindness, the generosity of this man, although at first masked by a wise skepticism, was something she had not truly seen since before descending into the depths of Vault 111.

"Yes, that was very nice of you! I turned them into soup, and I thought I would share, as a way of saying thanks."

She offered him the pot, and his eyes widened in surprise and wonder. He motioned for the woman shadowing the hut's doorway to come forward and then he took the soup into his hands. "You didn't have to go to such trouble, but it is very appreciated. The name's Blake. Come inside for a few minutes."

Marcy looked as though she would rather do no such thing but was prodded along by a side-eyed glare from Nora. They joined the Abernathy family inside at their table while Blake began spooning soup into five bowls.

It was the first time Nora had tasted her own concoction, and she thought she did pretty well with such a foreign, mutated ingredient. The Abernathy's praised her work well.

"If you don't mind me asking, where are you staying?" asked Blake's wife Connie.

Marcy's face skewered. "We're pretty close by," was all she would say.

"We're at the cul-de-sac just past the Red Rocket," Nora elaborated.

Blake nodded and said nothing, allowing his wife to do the questioning.

"Sanctuary Hills?" Connie said, recognizing the place. "You should be careful if you've just settled. Lucy would track packs of mole rats in that area."

Lucy, the adult daughter of Blake and Connie, merely raised a hand to acknowledge Connie's statement as truth.

"You've got a lovely farm here," Nora observed. "How long have you lived here?"

Connie grew quiet, her eyes fell to her bowl. Blake intervened on her behalf. "We set up here about twenty years ago. We used to be in Diamond City, but Boston has all manner of vices and dangers. Connie and I preferred the quiet life, and so when we got pregnant with our first daughter, we moved out here. We've had a few problems with raiders and pests, but nothing like it was in the city."

"Oh, you have another daughter?" Nora asked, looking around for the fourth Abernathy.

The momentary dejected silence told Nora all she needed to know. Connie reaching for a locket hidden in her shirt and Blake's clarification was just further confirmation.

"Our oldest, Olivia, was killed in a raider attack."

The harsh lines of Marcy's face faded into one of sympathy. If anything, Marcy understood their pain the most. She pushed back her chair and disappeared outside.

"I am so sorry to hear that. Please excuse Marcy. She lost her son the same way."

Blake leaned forward. "And you? I can tell you've suffered loss. Who hasn't in this cruel world?"

Nora's smile was weak. "My baby was stolen from me." It was a whisper she would rather not breathe life into.

Blake nodded, reaching to pat her hand. "Our pain is the same. We all suffer similarly."

Blake looked across the table into the tender faces of his family. Then he decided that he would send another shipment of vegetables with them, as well as their daughter Lucy who would help their own garden along, imparting their twenty-year's worth of agricultural knowledge.

Blake looked her evenly in the eyes. "We are friends. Friends help each other."

When Nora went outside to tell Marcy the news, the other woman said nothing in response. She shifted the musket around in her hands and waited with an air of agitation for the Abernathy's to gather the gift they were offering, a basket of carrots and corn this time.

Lucy carried the basket, trailing behind Marcy who led the way back to Sanctuary. Their walk was silent. When they passed the Red Rocket Station, Nora told the other two to go on ahead. She stopped to scavenge for any parts or materials Sturges could use for the power grid he was developing. She looked through all the tool chests and drawers and left the station an hour later with a good amount of conductors, wire, and other tools she thought might help him.

When she passed through the Sanctuary gate, the air inside seemed tangibly brighter than it had been before. Preston was whistling at his post. Nora could see Marcy, Jun, and Sturges surrounding Lucy as she walked their plowed field and lectured on where they needed to improve.

"You did good, Nora," Preston said, walking next to her as she went to deposit the junk at Sturges's workshop.

She mumbled a quiet thanks, dusting her shirt off from the rust and grime that had fallen on her.

Preston continued, as if he had something on his mind. "Marcy told me about the deal you made with the Abernathys."

"I didn't make a deal. They offered us resources. I'm sure there will be a time when we'll need to pay them back."

"All the same. It takes great skill and leadership to do what you did. It took bravery to even seek them out. We'll make this a great place, but we'll make it a great place because of you."

"One person does not make a community. It is the work of everyone involved," she said quietly, uncomfortable with his high praises.

Preston slowly nodded but ultimately undeterred by her dismissal of her abilities. "True, but one great leader can inspire everyone to come together, to make the community great."

She froze, sensing this new direction in the conversation. "What do you want?"

"It's not what _I_ want. It's what we need. Not just here in Sanctuary, but the rest of the Commonwealth. I see the qualities of a great leader in you. You have the sharp cunning to think quickly through situations, the bravery to march forward into the dangerous unknown, and the fierce compassion it takes to save a group of strangers you never met before."

She said nothing.

"I was thinking. We should rebuild the Minutemen. Create it in the way it was originally supposed to be. 'By the people, for the people.' And I think you are the best choice in leading us."

Nora was strongly reminded of Danse's invitation into the Brotherhood. She couldn't fathom Preston's enthusiasm for her not only joining the Minutemen but also _leading_ them. "You want me to lead them?"

"Yes...General."

Her throat constricted, the automatic refusal lost on her lips. She wasn't sure even how to respond to such an expectation. She coughed to clear her throat. "I'm not a leader. I can't lead you."

"I beg to disagree, with what I've seen from you handling the raiders and the Abernathy's—"

"No, you don't understand. It's not about what I'm capable of. It's a matter of what I'm willing to do. I was happy to open the doors of Sanctuary for you and the others. But I'm not the general you're looking for. All I want to do is find my son. Everything else is irrelevant, unimportant to me. You don't want a leader whose first interest isn't in leading. I'm sorry, but I can't. You deserve better."

Preston's mouth worked itself into a frown. "If that's how you really feel, then I appreciate the honesty. Just promise me you'll think about it. No matter what you say, your actions prove to me that you're the best thing that's happened to us."

Nora shook her head with even less conviction. "Thank you for the kind words. I'm leaving for Diamond City again soon, though. Maintain the relationship with the Abernathys. And don't be afraid to accept new people in here."

Preston nodded with a peculiar shine to his eye. "Whatever you say, General." And he walked off before she could argue the title.

She found Mama Murphy sitting inside their house. Everyone else, including Codsworth, was outside listening intently to Lucy's advice. Dogmeat, apparently sensing the sudden trepidation surrounding Nora, followed her to the house, planting himself in the doorway as if to keep watch. Mama Murphy looked up from humming tunelessly and gave a dry chuckle. "Oh, I see. You've got something to tell me."

Nora wanted to like Mama Murphy but found it difficult. It wasn't the sagging skin around her face or the grimy hem of her coat. There was something condescending in the way she carried herself, having this supernatural access to "The Sight" that afforded her a keen look of the world. There was something in the way the old woman yielded to the cravings of her old vices, drugs and alcohol. Nora had seen many through the legal system, kids getting mixed up in drugs but always regretting it, too weak to refuse the cravings they had grown addicted to. And then there were the addicts who understood to the fullest extent, the culpability of their actions, but had not a care in the world how it affected them or the people around them. She sensed Mama Murphy fell into the latter category.

"Mama Murphy," she began slowly, folding her arms. "Do you know someone named Jared?"

The recognition that flashed through her face was undeniable. "Yeah, I remember him well enough. He's just a sprout whose jealous of the Sight."

Nora found herself inexplicably annoyed. "Well that _sprout_ saw you passing through Concord. He kidnapped me in Cambridge. He wanted me to deliver a message to you."

She cackled another throat laugh. "Let me guess. He wants to see me?"

Nora nodded. "He said, he's at the Corvega plant. I think he was stalking around our fence last night."

Mama Murphy waved her off. "Jared can be dangerous, but I don't think he's a concern right now. He's probably just seeing if you gave me the message. Then he'll go back to Corvega and wait. We have some time before you need to deal with him."

"Before _I_ deal with him?" Nora repeated skeptically.

"Yes. That may be hard to swallow right now. But we've all got a role to play when the time comes."

"Well, the only thing I care about right _now_ is finding my son."

Mama Murphy nodded. "Yes, yes. But you've brought me something, haven't you? Something from Jared? Something that will help you in your search."

At this, Nora finally produced the inhaler of jet for her, holding it out in her palm. It sat innocently enough, but she understood just how dangerous it was.

"Better check to make sure everyone is busy. Folks don't like it much when I partake," Mama Murphy pointed out.

Nora did as she was bid, confirming everyone was preoccupied. "We're good." She went to hand Murphy the jet, but paused, drawing it back, a stern look coming to her face. "This is for _Shaun_. I'm not giving it to you because of Jared's stupid message or to supply your addiction. You help me find Shaun. If you send me on a wild goose chase, well. I can't imagine things turning out good for you."

Mama Murphy was wholly unperturbed by the implicit threat. Nora passed over the jet and waited.

It took a few minutes. Murphy's eyes went bloodshot and hazy, a few groans escaping her lips. Finally, in full clarity she offered:

"Diamond City holds answers, but they're locked tight. People's hearts are chained up with fear and suspicion. But you find it. _The_ heart, the brightest one. You find that heart that's gonna lead you to your boy."

And so, Nora prepared for the trip to Diamond City.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry about the absence. I've been overwhelmed by my new job. But, my summer is free (mostly!) and here is an update! Thank you for bearing with me.

* * *

 **Postpartum  
** _Chapter Nine_

* * *

Nora had visited iconic Fenway Park several times with Nate before the bombs fell (and even a few times without him, before their marriage). She had memorized its location like any good native Bostonian, a skill that proved quite useful when Nora had finally pushed her way into the heart of Boston and discovered that it was a warzone.

The streets and side alleys she had so familiarized herself with had a likely chance of being upturned, crumpled, destroyed, or a prime battleground. Just reaching the city limits proved to be a difficult feat itself. Picking off feral ghouls, sidestepping explosive mines, dodging detection from raiders, and ducking away from super mutants, Nora never recalled ever enduring any other trial that was so physically demanding.

Sometimes she would engage in combat, but Nora found that it was sometimes smarter to hide, avoiding confrontations altogether. Whatever she decided, Dogmeat was there to trust her instinct, either throwing himself valiantly into the midst of battle or crouching down in times where stealth was necessary. He seemed so in tune with her thought process that it was as if he required no command on her part. He would hunker down in a Slocum Joe's with her while raiders and super mutants fought it out just outside.

On one particular instance, Nora waited down the painful minutes as they shifted into excruciating hours. She shifted the position of her legs as her feet grew numb, and her boot brushed against a tattered publication. A quick glance at its cover told Nora that she was unfamiliar with it, probably printed after the bombs fell. Intrigued, she picked up a copy to peruse.

The publication was called _Publick Occurrences_ , an interesting nod to Boston's colonial history. Its headline read "The Synthetic Truth," penned by a Piper Wright, and in the waning light of dusk, Nora read the fairly recent article that detailed a synth attack. The article was an emotional play, no doubt, and while its author made no explicit declarations, it did contain strong insinuations that the mayor of Diamond City was possibly a synth.

Nora thought it bold. Very bold, as she folded the article and shoved it into the pocket of her duster for the night.

The next morning brought a new blessing—the entrance to Diamond City. The presence of roaming security patrols told her that she was close, and they, assisted by several spray-painted arrows, told her where to go. Despite the presence of the security patrols, Nora was surprised by how close the ballistics of hostiles such as super mutants and raiders sounded. Perhaps they were just the new white noise of the city.

As she approached the front gate, Nora thought the space before it was open and intimidating. The gate was shut. Aside from a few hidden security snipers, only one other person was there, a woman arguing with a speaker box. As Nora drew closer, she was able to determine the topic of conversation: the woman had been banned and was desperately trying to get into the city. But it wasn't helpless desperation. It was one of annoyance, determination, and cold necessity.

The woman noticed Nora approaching the gate, and a shine of an idea glinted in her eye. She turned to the loudspeaker again. "Hey, you've got a visitor out here. You're going to keep her out?" The woman pretended to crane her neck to get a better look at Nora. "She might be a trader. She's carrying some goods on her. What's that? You're a trader from Quincy? How would the people like that, Danny? I can see my next headline. 'Diamond City Security blocks resources to the city.'"

There was a loud, exasperated sigh that crackled through the speaker. "All right fine, Piper. You win. But Mayor McDonough isn't going to like this."

Piper didn't respond to the security guard but, as the gate creaked to life, she turned to wink at Nora. "Thanks for playing along. I'm Piper, by the way, Piper Wright."

The name struck instant recognition, and Nora understood the reference to the imagined headline. "Piper Wright? From _Publick Occurrences_?" She pulled out the crumpled article from her pocket.

Piper's face lit up. "So you're a fan, eh? Nice to see my work is getting around."

"I found it in a Slocum Joe's on my way to Diamond City. I'm Nora, by the way."

"Well, Nora, it's nice to meet you. First time here? I can help you around the big city. I should warn you though; I'm not very popular."

"Why is that?" Nora asked.

"People don't care for my articles. I work hard to write the truth, but it seems as though the truth makes everyone uncomfortable." Piper's bright gaze turned to the front entrance of Diamond City, and some of her brightness visibly dimmed. "Speak of the devil."

A rotund, self-important man marched his way toward where they were standing. He wore a distinguishing fedora that looked as grimy as the rest of the world of post-apocalyptia. He did not look too happy, but he did not seem to notice Nora at all. Piper reserved the full brunt of his stormy gaze.

"You devious, rabble-rousing slanderer! The level of dishonesty in that paper of yours! I'll have that printer scrapped for parts."

"Mayor McDonough. What a pleasant surprise," Piper said, carelessly dismissing his threats and insults. She did not seem at all afraid of him. If Nora had to guess, she looked as though she would have much enjoyed to continue antagonizing the mayor of Diamond City. "And you should know that I work tirelessly to provide Diamond City with The Truth, pure, unadulterated truth! I'm sorry if you cannot handle that."

"Your _truth_ , Ms. Wright, is baseless, founded on gossip and hearsay. You've got nothing better to print other than your sensationalist journalism. You better watch yourself, and that sister of yours too."

"What do you have to say, then, about the kidnappings? People being plucked out of their beds in the middle of the night and their families have no idea where they are? You've offered no stance about this. You do not even seem to care about the Diamond City citizens."

Mayor McDonough's face flushed an even brighter shade of red. Before he could articulate a heated response, Nora decided to interject.

"Kidnappings? The fact that you threaten to silence the media makes you all the more suspicious. One of the original tenants that this country was founded on was Freedom of Speech and of the Press."

McDonough's features instantly smoothed over once he became aware of Nora standing nearby. He put on a politician's smile, welcoming and wide, as if he hadn't been so close to losing his temper a moment before.

"Ah, so sorry. I did not see you there. What brings you to Diamond City?"

Piper was more than pleased to announce on Nora's behalf. "This is Nora. The trader from Quincy you would have barred out of Diamond City just because you're afraid of one measly reporter."

Nora coughed, wondering if Piper was just pushing her limits too much. "Yes, I'm Nora. I'm looking for my baby. Someone stole him after they murdered my husband right in front of me."

The grave shift in conversation didn't slow Piper. "Kidnapping infants! Where does it end? Will Mayor McDonough stand by and let this happen? Will he let this poor mother search helplessly alone while you have all of Diamond City's resources at your hand?"

McDonough was fuming. "Finding infants isn't really Diamond City Security's specialty—"

Piper released a sharp scoff. "Typical. Mayor McDonough turns a blind eye to the needs and suffering of the Commonwealth people."

McDonough chewed on his bottom lip as he scoured his brain for a tactful response. "Well, I can assure you Mrs. Nora that we've not encountered any misplaced infants on our doorsteps. And no offense, but we do not possess the resources to track down every missing child story that crosses our doorstep. _However_ —"

His tone changed to one of promising hope before Piper could cut him off. "I would recommend visiting our local private investigator, Nick Valentine. He specializes in cases like these."

It was all Mayor McDonough had to offer, but it was more than what Mama Murphy had given her. Concrete, specific details. A name and occupation. He left her there at the front entrance, continuing to be flanked by his retinue of security. Then one of the security guards approached her cautiously.

"So that stuff about you being a caravan from Quincy? Let me guess, that was made up?"

Nora very nearly apologized for being complicit in Piper's lie, but thinking quickly, she realized she could use this opportunity to her advantage. If they were able to get their garden flourishing at Sanctuary, then they would have means to trade with larger settlements, like Diamond City, for other supplies they would have a harder time obtaining—scrap metal, medicine, wiring. It was a door of opportunity.

"Actually, I'm not from Quincy and I don't have anything with me today, but I'm more than willing to establish a trade deal. I've started a new settlement, northwest a ways. We'd like to negotiate a supply line. Food in exchange for other resources, building materials, medicine, if that sounds good to you."

The security guard actually seemed excited by her proposal. "That sounds great! The name's Danny Sullivan, by the way. We can talk about routes and times later. See me before you leave Diamond City, and I can give you an investment of caps."

Before anything else could be exchanged between them, Piper steered Nora away into the great bustling city. Fenway Park had much changed since the last time Nora had seen it.

A great number of shacks and outbuildings had been erected on the field for housing and markets. Oddly enough, there was a large lake that had formed to provide for their main source of water, the water purifier of which was manned by a child no less. They made use of the dugouts for a bar and the stands and bleachers made froom for a higher society of sorts.

"So, after you see Ol' Nick Valentine, would you like to stop by for an interview, Blue?"

It took Nora a moment to realize that Piper was speaking to her. "What, me? You want to interview _me_? Why?"

"I think it could get good coverage. Your story about your missing son. Plus, not everyone is brave enough to stand up to Mayor McDonough like you did."

"I hardly call that standing up to him," Nora said with a small chuckle.

"It's a lot more than what anyone else would have done, Blue."

"Why are you calling me that?"

"Blue? You may not be wearing the typical Vault suit at the moment, but it's obvious with your clean teeth and fresh look at the world where you came from. Am I wrong?"

Nora smiled but it felt empty. Piper wasn't wrong, of course, but her actual experiences in in Vault 111 were brief and traumatic. She didn't associate as being _from_ the vault, even though she did occupy her cryopod for over two hundred years.

Two hundred years. It still knocked the breath out of her.

Nora blinked, quickly recovering from her reverie, and persisted in her smile for Piper. "Acute observation skills.

Piper winked. "Come find me sometime. We could have the interview of the century."

After Piper offered her directions to the Valentine Detective Agency, they split off, Piper going one way to a sharp-eyed young girl and Nora going in the opposite direction. She wove her way around the crowds and line of people, passing a barber, a doctor's office, a science center, until her path took her down a narrow alleyway. And then Nora almost cried out when she saw it.

The bright neon sign, flickering in the damp shadows of Diamond City. Valentine's heart. The heart Mama Murphy said would lead her to Shaun. The relief was overpowering, smoothing a tightness in her belly as tears threatened to spill over her cheeks.

She crossed the threshold of Valentine's Detective Agency, peering into the dimness of the room. "Hello? I'm here to see Nick Valentine?"

The first thing that she noticed about the cramped room were the piles of files and folders stacked to heights that would be deemed against fire code before the bombs fell.

Then she saw a slight, shaking figure behind the desk. A woman, a receptionist of sorts turned quickly at the visitor. And Nora could see from her tear-streaked face that something was amiss. Nora's previous relief was quickly extinguished.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid he's been missing," the girl managed weakly.

Nora's customary sigh returned to her. She shifted her weight to her other foot, feeling the heaviness of her rifle weighing down her shoulder.

Another delay. Another obstruction barring her path to Shaun. But it was the only way.

"Tell me everything you know about his disappearance."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry for the delay everyone. Thank you to my new followers; I hope everyone continues to enjoy this story. For now, we take a step back into the past.

* * *

 **Postpartum**  
Chapter Ten

* * *

 _Before the bombs fell._

Nora set her briefcase on the conveyor belt and watched as it rolled through the x-ray machine. The security guard watching the screen didn't react as it passed through, except for the slightest of nods of clearance.

"All right, ma'am, if you'll just step through the metal detector," another security guard directed.

Her hand fluttered anxiously to her belly, swollen at thirty-two weeks along. "I'm sorry; I know it's protocol, but I've been careful to avoid any form of radiation as my obstetrician told me. I've even gotten rid of my microwave at home. Can't you please allow this one exception?"

The security guard took in her sugary sweet tone as his eyes trailed the outline of her dress, which was deliberately skin-tight. It flaunted the silhouette of her body and proved her innocence by showing she simply did not have the room to conceal any weapons.

When he looked undecided for a moment too long, Nora offered him a seductive wink. "I'll let you frisk me instead. My husband is currently deployed—"

He instantly flushed a deep red and ushered her through. "That won't be necessary." Of course it wouldn't. A security guard frisking a pregnant lawyer would certainly earn some odd looks and raised eyebrows, especially if her husband was off serving his patriotic duty.

Even so, it did not deter him from sampling a handful of her right buttock as she passed. Nora did her best to conceal her revulsion. She made it through the security check, at the very least. As far as any of the guards knew, she was not carrying any weapons.

But this was Vault-Tec, New England Regional Office, and she was the infamous Hawthorne lawyer investigating HIPAA violations and other unethical practices resulting in a class action lawsuit. Nora wasn't stupid; her 10mm pistol was holstered against her inner thigh.

She soon found herself waiting on an uncomfortably hard bench, the secretary perched at her desk like an overseeing owl busy with the computer monitor before her. The receptionist had accepted Nora's sign-in before instructing her to wait just outside the regional manager's office. Nora obliged, painfully aware that she had arrived five minutes before their scheduled appointment at noon. The practiced lawyer suppressed any urge to squirm or shift or fidget with the hem of her dress. She took the uncomfortable seat and sciatic nerve pain with as much grace as she could manage.

The five minutes before noon blurred by quickly. Nora steadily eyed the analog clock above the office door, the pristine yellow logo of Vault-Tec emblazoned perfectly across the face.

 _12:00. 12:05._

The receptionist remained undeterred at the quickly disappearing time. She took a phone call with a journalist and scheduled an interview for the regional manager. She made another phone call to human resources, ensuring the next scheduled paychecks had cleared the bank before she returned to the rapid-typing of her computer.

 _12:10_.

Nora cleared her throat, a concise, deliberate sound. "Excuse me, I have an appointment with Ralph Jones."

Without looking up, the receptionist said, "Mr. Jones will see you shortly."

When it was _12:15_ , Nora recognized this for what it was—a display of power and intimidation. She would not give in no matter how much pain she was in.

Finally, at 12:28, the phone rang, and the receptionist said to her, "Mr. Jones will see you now, Mrs. Hawthorne."

She was not easily intimidated. She stood up, stretching her lower back and proceeded inside the office.

The executive desk was large and ornate, almost swallowing the lanky sliver of a man behind it. The back wall was made entirely out of glass windows, back-lighting him like a silhouette. He did not rise to greet her, only offered a sheer apology, thin veiled by a smug ego. "I appreciate your patience Mrs. Hathorne—"

She would not let him mistake her patience for compliance. " _Hawthorne_ , Mr. Jones. Nora Hawthorne. Surely you've had time since my arrival to properly learn my name."

His smile was wide and toothy. "Of course. Where are my manners? Please sit." The chair opposite of him was, mercifully, padded and lined. She smoothly sank into it, keeping her briefcase by her feet.

When she was seated, Mr. Jones jumped to his feet and went to the minibar behind his desk. "Can I offer you a drink? I have scotch, bourbon, wine—"

"No thank you, Mr. Jones."

"Please, call me Ralph."

"Ralph."

He returned to his desk with two champagne flutes anyway, both filled with the bubbly golden liquid. "I don't usually care for dry champagne, but I had this shipped from California. It's your favorite, correct?"

Nora felt her fingers tense and her throat tighten. She didn't bother to ask him how he knew that. Vault-Tec had many resources, spies, surveillance. Of course he had taken time to research her. She gave him a thin smile. She would not be intimidated.

"Normally is it my favorite. However, given my current state, I have abstained from alcohol for the time being."

"I'm sure one drink wouldn't hurt," he said with a wink before draining his glass.

Hers remained untouched.

He set his empty flute down. "What can I do for you?"

"I believe _you_ were the one that asked _me_ to come here, Mr. Jones."

"Ralph," he corrected harshly. Before she could respond, he picked up the phone and dialed his secretary. "Marisol, I want no interruptions," he ordered curtly before slamming the phone back onto the receiver.

Nora didn't flinch.

"You've been making waves, Nora. Not just here in the Commonwealth. You've got HQ nervous. The only lawyer brave enough to file and _investigate_ a class action lawsuit."

"Vault-Tec's nervousness just confirms that there _should_ be a lawsuit," she pointed out.

"Why hasn't it been done before, then?"

Nora's smile was confident. "I don't scare easily."

He chuckled. "You're right, of course. I've read all of your public hearings, cases no one will dare to touch, yet you _always_ come out on top."

"So you must know that you and your bosses aren't going to win. If you want a settlement, I'll have to speak to your CEO."

"My CEO doesn't intend to get involved. It would just further validate your crusade. He's delegated the task to me, and I don't plan on settling."

"How could you not?" she asked incredulously. "I have countless documented interviews proving poor and unethical working conditions. And your vaults? Little more than demented torture projects that you're calling 'social experiments!'"

"That won't matter soon. Your law office has already agreed to not push legal action. Something about pissing off a government-backed corporation just doesn't sit right with them. But that just leaves you, Nora. You've established yourself enough as a fearless attorney that you don't need the support of the your office. But how hard can silencing one woman be? There's a few simple answers. Kill you or bribe you. Killing you would only make you a martyr—bad public image for us, even if it was staged as an accident."

"I don't accept bribes, Ralph," she said. "So you might as well accept defeat."

He continued as if he hadn't heard her, standing up to turn and face the city behind him. "Have you been following the news with China? I'm sure you have since your husband is deployed in Alaska. You must be following it very closely, checking the Killed-In-Action list daily."

"What does my husband have to do with this?" she snapped.

"Everyone has something they hold very dear to them. With that baby in your belly and your patriotic husband, I'm guessing yours is your family. It's an honorable priority, Nora. Do not be ashamed."

"Are you threatening my family?" she asked in a low, thick voice.

"Of course not, Nora. The very opposite actually. I'm offering them asylum. You see, there's a reason Vault-Tec has grown so rapidly. The threat of nuclear war increases each day, as I'm sure you're well aware. What would happen to your family then? Your child you've gone to such lengths to bring into this world? If you dropped this whole case, I can reserve spots for you and your whole family in a vault."

"Knowing what I know, why would I want to stay in a vault? I don't want to become part of your social experiment."

"You should know that not every vault is designed the same way. We have controlled variables, non-sinister options. Here is the vault I have available for you. It's even close to home."

He passed over a file folder labeled _Vault 111_. She cautiously took it into her hands before slowly flipping through the pages of protocols, Overseer instructions, and personnel files.

"Cryogenics?" she said.

"Not the most glamorous one, I admit. But imagine waking up to a time in the future when there is no more war, nuclear bombs and radiation. Civilization starts anew. A new chance for your family, for your child."

"Why would I accept this?" Noras hissed, her composure faltering. She could not deny the temptation was certainly there.

"You accept it for your family," he asserted. "Protect them."

"And forsake my clients? Everything I've worked for?"

"The way I see it, Nora baby, you ain't got much choice. Because if you accept this, _my_ only choice is to kill you, and I will do it, even if it's a PR mess. Save your family or get you and your child killed.

The gravity of her position weighed heavily upon her. She was not afraid of dying, but she thought of Nate, of their baby. She cast around for some way out. "Wouldn't it be obvious that I took a bribe? That I just mysteriously dropped this case? That would look bad on _both_ of us. I can't have my reputation ruined like that."

"I've thought of that, because you're right. If you dropped the case altogether, it would be too suspicious. I've arranged for you to run into an accident once you leave this building. You'll be attacked, injured, but nothing serious enough to harm you or the baby. But, it will cause enough concern to force you to go onto maternity leave. You won't be bothered by the press or clients."

"That still looks bad on you if I'm attacked outside your building," she pointed out.

"Rogue muggers are easier to deal with than lawsuit settlements, publicity wise. You play your part, speak to no one, and I'll get you into a vault. I might even pay your medical bills. You can only benefit from this."

Nora was quiet for a long while thinking of the inevitable outcome. She finally managed through clenched teeth, "My husband can't know _anything_ about this."

Ralph Jones gave a short laugh, triumphantly clapping his hands together. "It will be our secret then."

He circled the length of his desk, and suddenly his eyes looked hungry, making her skin rise with gooseflesh. He positioned himself directly between her and the desk, leaving little space between them. She could guess what was coming next.

"As a gesture of your obedience—"

"No," she said thickly.

He was undeterred, reaching out to stroke her collarbone. "No one will interrupt us or discover us. Now you wore that skin-tight dress for a reason, to flirt your way through the security check so no one would find that pistol you've sneaked in."

She said nothing.

"Come now. The successful female attorney rises through the professional world without a _single_ dalliance? We both know the truth. Seal the deal. Pregnant women are a turn-on for me. Your breasts are very much alluring. Seal the deal; your husband will never know."

With a defeated sigh, she stood. He grasped her hips and turned around until her back was against the desk. He picked up her untouched champagne and offered it to her a second time.

She emptied it in one draught and then lay back as he removed the hidden pistol and pushed her dress up, caressing her thigh, her hip, her buttock.

"You remember my name?"

"Ralph," she gasped breathlessly.

"Good, get used to saying it."

* * *

Staff Sergeant Nate Hawthorne was deployed in Anchorage, Alaska, ready to battle-test the new shipment of power armor, when news of his expecting wife reached his ears. A fusion core had just been inserted into his suit when the dispatch was recited to him.

"I'm afraid, sir, there has been a mugging in Boston—"

The rest of the words had difficulty reaching him as blood rushed deafeningly through his ears. The ensign attempting to fit the suit on him gave him adjusting instructions to no avail. Nate only saw the dispatcher's lips move, mouthing inaudible syllables as he found it difficult to swallow.

"N-nora?" he managed through a hoarse throat.

The dispatcher and ensign were oblivious to his condition, deaf to his words.

"The good news is that your child—"

"Please, sir, if you could just move your arm—"

Nate punched the wall of the armory, heeding very little to the fact that ranking officers were nearby. "Nora. Tell me about Nora. What happened? Is she all right?"

The ensign appropriately stepped back, rather _jumped_ back. The dispatcher fumbled with his words. "She was, erm, mugged, _stabbed_ in Boston. She's fine, recovering in the hospital. There was some concern over your unborn child, but there is nothing to worry about. Your family is safe and healthy."

Nate exhaled slowly. Nora was fine. Nora was fine. No need to get worked up. "A pregnant woman mugged?" he repeated suspiciously. "Where in Boston was she?"

"In broad daylight, actually. Just outside the New England Vault Tec offices—"

Nate immediately understood. Nora was pursuing that class action lawsuit against Vault Tec. He knew she would be getting attention. Now it seemed, she was getting the wrong sort of it. It was so obviously staged, an intentional attack.

He disengaged from the power suit. "I need to speak to the CO."

If Vault Tec wouldn't hesitate from assaulting a pregnant lawyer in the middle of the day, it meant that there would be little else they wouldn't resort too. They would attack Nora again if it meant getting her off the case. And Nora was stubborn enough to push it. He knew that they had both agreed—they wouldn't allow the pregnancy to stand in the way of their professional careers. She would continue with her law firm, and he would fight wherever his country deemed it necessary. But his staggering reaction to the _possibility_ of Nora being harmed, or worse, told him that he had made the wrong choice.

"You just got back. Why would we discharge you?" Corporal Chase asked with some measure of humor. The man was tall, severe, with a respectable mustache.

Nate looked down at his hands. He could give so many answers, but he needed to choose the _right_ one. "My wife has been hospitalized. Please, sir. I'll come back as soon as she's recovered."

"I heard about the incident with your wife, staff sergeant," he said ungraciously. "She had it coming to her, don't you think?"

"Excuse me, sir?" Nate asked with no small amount of disgust.

"She's poking the bear. Taking on a big corporation like Vault Tec. I mean, what else do you expect?"

"She's pregnant—" Nate started, incredulously flummoxed.

"Then maybe that's your fault for not covering your junk. Look, I cannot discharge men left and right just because they're a little bit scared. We're fighting a real world here, sergeant. That's more important things than some nosy lawyer."

"That 'nosy lawyer' is my wife," Nate pointed out flatly.

Chase wrinkled his nose at Nate's tone. "I've given you my answer. If you don't report on the line tomorrow morning, I'll have you looking down the barrel of my pistol for desertion. Am I clear?"

Nate looked at the ground, fuming, his jaw tight. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Nora woke up, blinking uncomfortably at ugly, warm hospital lights. Her mouth was dry, and her lips felt cracked and caked with nasty mouthfeel. She tried rubbing her tongue against them to alleviate the discomfort but to no avail. Her back and neck hurt, and she felt exhausted despite being unconscious for what she was sure was several hours.

Then she realized she wasn't alone in the room, and it was the face of the last person she'd ever want to see. Ralph Jones.

She fixed him with the most hostile glare she could manage. "What are you doing here? I've done my part."

He gave a half-smirk. "PR clean up. On behalf of Vault Tec, I'd like to apologized for the unfortunate attack you experienced outside of our building." He gestured to a rather large bouquet on the nearby table, filled with dahlias, carnations, and garden roses.

"Okay, you've apologized and dropped off your gift. Now leave. I never want to see you again." Humiliatingly enough, Nora found she could not even look at him. She was disgusted in him and herself for forsaking her career and committing a moment of infidelity. She rubbed her swollen belly, yet that also alleviated nothing.

"Never again? Come on now. I thought we had a great time."

She fixed her gaze to the window and was ashamed to admit to herself that tears threatened to spring loose.

Jones seemed to take the hint and pity her. He made a move for the door, but then he hesitated. "Actually, I did hear a rumor—"

" _I don't care about your fucking rumors._ " Her voice was thick. The tears were dangerously close.

"Right, you don't care about a certain staff sergeant from the 108th infantry battalion getting injured in combat."

This seemed to break her. A tear leaked down her cheek. Her voice cracked. "Nate? What have you done?"

"It's not what _I_ have done, Mrs. Hawthorne, but your husband. Energy weapon misfiring. Did a number on his leg."

Her chest was tight. She was almost too afraid to ask. "How is—"

"He's fine. Discharged, though. I'm sure that's a sting on his pride. Scheduled to come home in two weeks."

She finally looked at him, still glaring, without a word.

Jones gave a careless shrug. "Don't worry. I'm not stupid. I know he gets a spot in the Vault with you and your child. Good day, Mrs. Hawthorne."

He left her alone then, the heart monitor pulsing metronomically, as Nora clutched desperately at her heart and belly.


End file.
